


Virtue and Talent

by LaughingTiger



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: 17th Century Medicine is the Best, Awkward gifts, Cousins, Just Take a Nap, Multi, Swordplay, what could go wrong?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingTiger/pseuds/LaughingTiger
Summary: De Sardet, Constantin, and Kurt before an inkling of the expedition to Teer Fradee.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 18





	1. Gifts and Naps

“Come on, Greenblood! Quit posing and block.”

“I _am_ , Kurt,” De Sardet whined.

“Put some muscle into it or I’ll send you to your next lesson bleeding.”

“You _won’t!_ I’m doing it right, so just try and hit me.”

“Cocky little shit. I warned you.” Kurt didn’t use his full strength— his student was tall and fit, and she was quick as a devil, but she wasn’t ready for an honest sparring match, let alone a real fight. De Sardet kept up with him, but his heavy strikes left her more and more out of position. Her pretty face pinched into a scowl and she grunted in pain at the jolt of clashing steel. The fifth strike sent her blade far aside and left her wide open. Kurt advanced, spun and, covering his pommel with his back hand to minimize the damage it could do, he smashed it into her face.

She fell hard with a shrill cry. Blood poured from her lip and she cupped a protective hand over her face, hiding the injury.

“Get up, Greenblood. I didn’t call hold,” he warned, stalking close. He was pleased that she still had a firm grip on her sword, but he wasn’t surprised. She was a good student who took her lessons to heart, but there was only so much she could learn when he wasn’t allowed to strike her. He was betting his livelihood that he’d be forgiven when the Prince saw her progress.

“I’m hurt,” she cried, looking up at him with fury swimming under the tears in her eyes. Blood poured down her chin. She looked ghastly.

“And I’ll kick your perfect teeth down your throat if you don’t get off your ass and finish this bout,” he growled, drawing his foot back. She rolled away and got her feet under her, but his boot connected with her hip and sent her tumbling again. She choked back a sob. “Get! UP!” he roared, swinging his blade just to her left.

She deflected the strike and rolled to a crouch, then she launched herself at him. He gave ground and swatted the flat of her blade, knocking it away from his body. He slid his blade along hers and shoved the blunted point hard against the leather protecting her heart. She staggered backward, met his eyes, and dropped her blade. With both hands, she made a symbol in the air, which began to glow. Kurt covered his face with his arm as a shock-wave buffeted him and knocked him back several feet.

“I yield,” she called, stooping to pick up her practice weapon.

“I didn’t call it yet,” Kurt warned.

“Then go ahead and keep beating the daylights out of me, Master Kurt. But you made your point— I’m a shit fighter,” she said, clearly struggling to keep back her tears.

“Hold. Watch the language, and that wasn’t the point. Come here and let me see your lip.”

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

“Come on, Greenblood. Let’s see the damage.” He sheathed the practice blade and reached out for her face. She allowed him to touch her, but she didn’t meet his eyes. He tipped her face toward him and with the rough leather covering his fingers, he wiped at some of the blood. She winced but didn’t pull away. “Shit,” he cursed when he saw how badly he had split her lip. “This is going to scar unless you can get someone to stitch it or heal it.”

De Sardet wrested her face away and gingerly touched her lip, bloodying her own glove. “Why should a scar bother me when I look like I do?” she muttered.

“None of that. Anyone who can’t see past a birthmark is a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve a moment of your time.”

“Can I go, now?”

“Do you know why I hit you, De Sardet?”

“Because I was posing,” she said. “I thought I was really good at this, but I guess you’ve been humoring me, just like everyone else in my life.”

“You think a Coin Guard weapons master is allowed to lay a hand on royalty, Greenblood? You needed this lesson, but it might be our last.”

“I won’t say anything, Kurt, as long as you promise you won’t hold back anymore.”

“Deal. Let’s go find that bishop from Theleme and get you fixed up, Greenblood.”

——————

De Sardet closed the door behind her and kept her face down— the bishop had healed her, but when she refused to tell him what happened, he had all but shoved her out of his office, and he certainly hadn’t offered her the means to clean up. Kurt hadn’t been thrilled about sending her along without him, but in the end, he had seen the wisdom of _not_ showing up at her side to ask a favor of the priest while she was covered in blood. Before she had gone ten steps, a familiar shadow detached itself from the gloom in the corridor.

“Oh, Manon, I hoped you would be here.”

“Hello, Cousin. Why would you hope to find me here? I thought you liked me.”

“For healing, of course, silly. I saw what Kurt did to you, Cousin. How dare he! You’re still covered in blood! He even kicked you while you were down! What happened to fighting with honor?”

“Calm down, Constantin. What do you think a fight is really like?” she asked, linking her arm with his and leading him down the corridor. “He was still taking it easy on me.”

“I could tell my father,” Constantin insisted.

“You’ll do no such thing,” she said, leading them along what she hoped would be a discreet path away from the Theleme ambassador’s wing of the palace. “Kurt is an exceptional teacher,” she continued, not allowing Constantin to get another word in. “And I think the Prince wants us to know how to fight for real, don’t you? You don’t want to look like a coward or a weakling for complaining that the man teaching us to fight actually hit one of us after four years of lessons, do you?”

“But your poor, sweet face. Did it hurt much?”

“It’s better now.”

“I’m still angry with him. That could have left a scar.”

“Who cares?” she laughed. “I’m so ugly that nobody would notice a scar anyway. Or if they did, it would just distract them from my mark. See? A facial scar would be to my benefit.”

“Don’t ever call yourself ugly again, my fair cousin. You’re lovely. Stunning. Personally, I find you nigh irresistible.”

“Stop it.”

“I’d take you right now, wounded and encrusted in your own blood as you are, if only you weren’t my cousin.”

“Constantin,” she chastised.

“I’d undress you with my teeth and ravish you right here on the bare floor, if only—”

“Constantin, _stop_. Where on earth do you get this stuff?”

He threw his arms around her and wouldn’t let go. “I mean it. I know you think I’m mocking you, but it’s so true it hurts, and I wish you’d believe me.”

“You’re probably lucky I don’t.”

“I love you, Cousin.”

“I love you, too, Constantin. Let me go.”

“As you wish, my fair cousin,” he said, releasing her. “You should clean all that blood off, though. You’ll frighten your mother if she sees you like that.”

“Give me your scarf so I can cover it, just in case.”

“What? It’s my favorite, and you’ll get it all bloody!”

“You hopeless fop. I thought you loved me. Think of how it would break my heart to be the cause of a great shock for my poor mother. Don’t you at least love your dear auntie?”

“Here,” he said, unwinding the silk from his neck. “You owe me a new one if you stain it, though.”

“Well, the blood is dry, first of all, but since it’s _my_ blood and you love me so, you should hope for such a personal memento.”

“Ah, yes, anointed with royal, virgin blood. That would be quite the talisman.”

“Virgin? _Virgin_? Constantin, I’m twenty-one. What makes you think—”

“Hush! I can’t hear it. I _won’t_ hear it! You’re a virgin or I’ll die of heartbreak.”

“Oh, right. You missed the part of my birthday where your father presented me with my own dowry and the most humiliating letter imaginable.”

“What? That’s madness. What letter?”

“Well, if you’d been there, you’d know.”

“I was indisposed. You said you forgave me— you can’t hold out on me now because that’s not how forgiveness works. How would I know? What would I know?”

“Oh, fine. If you’d been there… well, he summarized the letter’s contents for those present because that was the only way to explain why he was giving me my own dowry. Thankfully, the gathering was small.”

“Please tell me. I’m sorry I missed it. I was nearly dead from a hangover— you know that. And you’re the one who let me drink so much, so it was your own fault I wasn’t there.”

“I nearly died of shame. He’s decided once and for all that he won’t fob me off on some noble or foreign prince. The letter explained that healthy young women who are kept too long from the life-saving attentions of a husband are at dire risk of death from strangulation of the uterus. His doctor included a list of symptoms and instructions about how I must find a way to discreetly alleviate the condition, should it strike me. That was not shared with the guests or I would have died of embarrassment.”

“Strangulation of the what? That isn’t a thing.”

“I assure you they’re very real. It’s the female organ in which babies—”

“Not that,” he said, shoving her. “The strangulation part. What absolute quackery. It can’t be real.”

“Your father’s doctors convinced him that it is, so part of my birthday gift was a small collection of gilded phalli— in case I can’t manage to find a willing male— in addition to permission to fuck whomever I please for the sake of my good health, so long as I abort any resulting pregnancy and don’t marry anyone. Ever. So, I’m sorry, dear cousin, but my virginity—”

“Wait. _Anyone_? To whom have you given yourself?”

“Nobody I’d want to marry, even if it were not treason for me to wed. Now leave it alone.”

“Don’t be upset. That’s an amazing gift, fair cousin. Most women are traded for business contracts far younger than you are now, and by your age, they often have at least three brats clinging to their skirts and slobbering at their breasts. He gave you _yourself_. My god, what I would give for the same freedom.”

“He’s not going to marry you off to pop out babies with some stranger any time soon, Constantin.”

“Only because the sooner he does, the sooner he has a rival for his position.”

“Hm. How sad. Do you want a golden penis to make you feel better? I have a few extras. I can’t possibly use six of them at once.”

“Six? You have to show me. I can’t believe I missed all this. Did my father actually say _strangulation of the uterus_ in polite company?”

“He did.”

“And he gave you a box of cocks in front of his dinner guests?”

“Alas. That was waiting for me in my room.”

“What did your mother do? She must have been there. Oh, and Kurt— he’s been ogling you for two years now. How did he react to the news that you have royal dispensation to behave like a harlot? You haven’t slept with _him_ , have you?”

“Mother did a fine impression of a statue and Kurt was off trying to find you, as a matter of fact. I haven’t told him. It’s difficult to work the topic of uterine strangulation into conversations about fighting technique and such.”

“Huh. I suppose I truly did spoil the party by missing it, didn’t I?”

“As always, dear cousin. Come on— if you’ll fetch a pitcher of water so I can wash my face, I’ll show you my box of cocks. I’m still baffled as to how my uterus is supposed to be able to strangle and kill me, but that must be what the doctor learned at the Royal University. I, alas, am uneducated in such arts, but I needn’t be unwashed.”

De Sardet hurried to her room when Constantin detoured to fetch her some water. She probably had half a pitcher on her dressing table from that morning, but she did _not_ want to reveal to her cousin where the box of ostentatious sex toys was stashed. If any of them turned up anywhere, she was certain it would end up traced back to her. How many gilded dildos could there be in Serene? And if she lost them and word got back to the Prince, what would he do? Give her more? Sic his doctor on her? No, Constantin must not find out where she kept them.

When she got into her room, she opened the tall, standing wardrobe and rifled through it a bit, then closed the doors quickly and trapped a bit of cloth in the gap, then she retrieved the box from the compartment underneath the padded window seat. Constantin was smart and observant, but she had been managing him for his entire life. She set the white maple box on the cushion, then she pulled back the curtains a little so the sunlight would glint off the gold and ivory inlay. It was such a beautiful box. When she first saw it, she had high hopes. She scoffed at herself as she remembered. But despite her embarrassment and disappointment, Constantin was right— the Prince had given her an unequaled gift.

Constantin didn’t knock and as he entered, his eyes quickly scanned the room. “Berta says cold water is best for blood,” he announced.

“Berta’s a sadist. Did you make her draw it for you?”

“No,” Constantin said.

De Sardet knew he was lying. She took the pitcher from him and poured it into the basin. “They’re in that box by the window,” she told him, dipping a linen cloth into the frigid water. She half watched him hurry to the window and carefully lift the lid as she began to scrub her face.

“Oh, exquisite!” he exclaimed, gazing into the box. “Which one is your favorite?”

“Excuse me?” she asked, still scrubbing dried blood from her face.

“Some of these are quite unrealistic. I’d hate for you to be setting yourself up for disappointment.”

“Oh, yes, I’m aware,” she said, patting her face dry with a linen towel. “Who do you suppose made them? A carpenter? Or is there a specific craftsman somewhere in Serene who carves and then applies gold foil to cocks for a living? Does he study live models, or does he extrapolate based on his experience of his own member? Are they made of wood or ivory? I have so many questions.”

“We have to find out. What is this contraption for?” A tangle of belts dangled from his finger.

“Ah. Another good question,” she said, taking it from him. She held it up to her waist. “I believe it would allow me to wear one of these gentlemen and use it as if it’s my own.”

“Oh, god, please put it on. I have to see.”

“You put it on,” she said, tossing it back to him. “Maybe you’ll start a new fashion.”

“Why would you need to wear one?” he asked, puzzling out the buckles and straps.

“Well, suppose I found a willing lover who was not, em, properly endowed? I suppose that with this she would be able to simulate the “life-saving attentions of a husband” for me. And I for her, naturally.”

“For _her_ …. No, my father would _never_ endorse such a thing. Could this collection have been a gift from someone else? Your mother, perhaps?”

“I guess we’ll never know because I’m certainly not going to ask. But I’m fairly sure I received the cocks from the Prince.”

“Nooo, never say those words again,” Constantin whined.

She tossed his scarf back to him and began unlacing her protective doublet. “Put those away. We’re supposed to be in the tower for a lesson already.”

Constantin tumbled the collection into its carved box and flicked the lid shut. “Kurt got us excused,” he said. “We have the rest of the day to ourselves.”

“How did _you_ get out of lessons for the day?” she asked, stowing her protective gear in its drawer in her wardrobe. She took an extra moment to fuss with some of the clothing hanging toward the back, well aware that Constantin was watching and making assumptions about the regular resting-place of _the collection_.

“You needed me,” he explained. “I knew you were hurt and then Kurt abandoned you and didn’t come looking for me. Let’s go find a tavern that doesn’t remember our faces.”

“Unlikely. It’s too early, anyway.”

Constantin yawned. “You say it’s early, but I feel like I could sleep for a week. If you’re not ready for a drink, how about a nap? Then we can paint the town.”

“Fine. But get your boots off my bed,” she said, tugging his heel.

“Keep pulling,” he said, wriggling his foot free. “Ah! Now the other one,” he said, wagging his other foot at her.

“I’m not your servant. Get it yourself,” she said, dropping the first boot to the floor. She removed her own footgear while Constantin waved his booted foot in the air.

“I mean it. Do it yourself or I’m throwing you out, you prissy baby.”

“I’m too exhausted, fair cousin,” he said, rolling onto his stomach and kicking his foot into the air again, waiting for her to pull it off.

De Sardet sighed and yanked his boot free. “Are you wearing silk stockings, Constantin?”

“Yes. They’re fantastic,” he said, rolling to face her. “They wear out in a week and they cost Mother a fortune to import. She thinks she’s buying my love with a never-ending supply of them.”

“Well, they make your ankles look very pretty,” she teased as she flopped onto the bed beside him.

“Oh, and look my calves!” he said, pointing his toe and holding his leg in the air. “Irresistible.”

“Be still, my heart. Also, you be still,” she said, shoving his shoulder so he was facing away from her. It made for awkward moments if she didn’t account for the position in which they fell asleep. “Too bad I didn’t try on Goliath for you,” she said, grabbing his hip and grinding her pelvis against him.

Constantin yelped and squirmed away. She released him and slid her hand up to tickle his ribs, provoking a shriek as he curled in on himself. She stopped her attack immediately and dragged a blanket over them.

“Wicked wench,” he said, grinning.

“Go to sleep,” she said, kissing his temple before rolling over and snugging her spine against his.

He reached back and curled his arm over her hip. “You think I won’t get my revenge, fair cousin?”

She slipped her hand into his. “Mm-hmm. You’re a prissy baby. I couldn’t be safer,” she said, her eyes already closed.


	2. Issa and Salve

De Sardet would have liked to delay answering the summons, and technically she could justify waiting until she could find Constantin as both of them were requested to appear, but if the unexpected and unusually late meeting was what she feared it might be, she would prefer to see the Prince alone. She and Constantin had slept more soundly and for longer than usual when they crept away to nap, and since Kurt hadn’t been on duty, the coin guards who were supposed to be watching over Constantin panicked when they couldn’t find him. Kurt would have handled the situation with tact, but the stand-ins nearly caused a scandal— they dragged De Sardet from her own bed before they recognized her, and Constantin had done nothing but fan the flames. Alarmed and disoriented, it was long moments before he realized what was happening and collected his wits. He put a stop to the inexperienced bodyguards who were so very slow to realize who she was, and then he fled.

“My uncle requested that I come and speak with him at once,” she said to the coin guard posted outside the royal wing.

“You may pass, Excellency,” the guard said, opening the door for her. “The Prince said he’d be in his study or walking the gallery.”

“How long has he been waiting?” De Sardet asked.

“At least an hour.”

She cursed under her breath and entered the royal gallery. The Prince, it seemed, had heard and paused his pacing— he was waiting for her.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” De Sardet said, bowing. She held the position until the prince spoke.

“Where is Constantin?” he asked after a long, silent moment.

De Sardet straightened but kept her eyes on the floor. “He was not in my company when I received the message that you wished to speak with us. I couldn’t find him immediately, and I was reluctant to keep you waiting.”

“Perhaps this is better. The boy would not take this seriously, after all. Let us sit— I’ve been pacing for quite some time,” he said, leading her to a bench underneath an arch that overlooked an enclosed garden on the lower level. “I’m told that you and my son were discovered in bed together, Niece.”

“Please, Your Majesty,” De Sardet said before he could continue, “allow me to explain this misunderstanding. It was a compromising situation, but it was not what it appeared to be.”

The prince raised an eyebrow. He looked very much like his son in that moment, and De Sardet realized he wasn’t angry as she’d first assumed.

“Your lack of discretion is all that offends me, my dear,” he said, confirming her assessment. “I am, quite frankly, surprised there hasn’t been occasion for this conversation before now. Constantin seems as insatiable as his mother, I’m afraid, and you are quite well-known for indulging his whims even when you find it tiresome to do so.”

“Uncle, we didn’t—”

“Hush, sweet girl,” said the Prince, touching her lips to silence her. “I understand and hold nothing against you. You are both healthy, attractive, and subject to the appetites of youth. The best thing about the Coin Guard is how ready they are to sell their silence, and nobody else knows.”

“That is fortunate, and I will happily provide the necessary funds to prevent rumors from spreading. However, it’s important to me personally that you know the truth. What the guards who found us actually saw was an innocent and chaste moment of intimacy. I love my cousin as I would love a brother. We were fully clothed and had fallen asleep, just as we often did when we were very young.”

“I see,” D’Orsay said, holding her gaze. After a moment, he nodded. “And I find that I believe you, even though my instincts say that I should not. Whatever the truth may be, it’s important to _me_ that you know there’s no shame in it for either of you if you can be discreet.”

“We’re first cousins,” De Sardet said in disbelief. “Surely such rumors would cast long shadows, Your Majesty.”

“If the two of you were not who you are, perhaps. At least he’s not… oh, what a horrible thought. My son _does_ appreciate the company of women, doesn’t he?”

De Sardet sighed. It never failed to surprise her that the aristocracy had such skewed priorities. “I think he appreciates the company of cards, dice, and rotgut best, but yes, Uncle,” she answered. No need to mention that Constantin was not at all particular, so long as his paramours were attractive and _not_ part of his father’s court.

“What a relief. One more thing, Niece. If, as you assert, you are not Constantin’s lover, are you at least attending to your health?”

De Sardet smiled. “Please don’t worry over me, Your Majesty. I am well and want for nothing.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll have one of my doctors attend you soon to be sure. You may go, Niece.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Have a pleasant evening,” she said with a smile. She hoped the Prince would leave Constantin alone, but she didn’t count on it.

* * *

“What’s all this fuss I’ve been hearing about, Greenblood?” Kurt asked as they both put on their protective gear for their afternoon lesson. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be seeing you today.”

“What have you heard?” De Sardet asked. It seemed like it had been a very long time since she’d parted company with Kurt on the way to have her lip healed. It was hard to believe it was only yesterday. “Is this about the dress? I swear I’m going to murder that whiny seamstress if she’s running her mouth.”

“What dress? Are you trying to talk someone into making that coat with all the pockets for knives and explosives again?”

De Sardet sighed. “I should be relieved you don’t know. Forget I mentioned it. What were you referring to, then?”

“I was in the office dealing with the roster and payroll after our sparring session, and I’m told that my stand-ins lost track of you and your cousin. Then you turned up, apparently, and had an audience with the Prince. I couldn’t get any details, but the Princess Consort has asked that the guards who were on duty be reassigned for some reason.”

“I don’t know anything about the guardsmen and the Princess, but I’d wager Constantin does. After we went our separate ways yesterday, I skipped a lesson and took a nap. Then my uncle had some questions about Constantin’s sexual exploits.”

“Ugh. Is that all? Did you tell His Majesty that you’re not your cousin’s keeper?” Kurt asked, choosing a practice blade. He rejected the first one because it had a loose handle, and the second for some reason De Sardet couldn’t immediately identify.

“On the contrary, I answered his questions,” she said. “Directness bores him and puts an end to unpleasant conversations much sooner, I’ve learned.”

“A helpful tip. I thought it might be because of our sparring match, to be honest.”

“You needn’t worry. Other than the two of us, only the healer and Constantin know I was hurt, and only Constantin knows what happened.”

“Thank you, Greenblood. But it’s going to come out eventually. I’m done treating you with kid gloves. You don’t block, you’re going to bleed.”

“I _did_ block, Kurt,” she said, scowling at him.

“Like a delicate flower in the breeze,” he mocked, gently waving his sword back and forth to demonstrate.

De Sardet swatted the flat of the blade with her gloved hand and stalked past him.

“I know you’re strong enough,” Kurt said, following her to the practice ring. “You’re as fit as any of the guard recruits— I’ve seen to it. Learn to use it, Greenblood, or what’s the point?”

“Teach me what I’m doing wrong.”

“You’ve heard it all before. It’s not anything you’re doing, it’s what you’re _not_ doing. If your sword is stationary, even if it’s in the right position, you can’t stop my swing. You’ve got to meet my blade and push back.”

“Oh, is _that_ how it’s done,” she asked, smirking at him. She found Kurt easy and amusing to fluster, and she suspected she would need any edge she could get to keep him from beating her to a bloody mess.

“I didn’t mean—” he sniffed and shook his head. “That’s how it’s done,” he said, looking her in the eyes.

“All my muscle memory is too passive, then. I think I’ll need a lot of practice.”

“You just need to get angry and it’ll come naturally. Blade up.”

“I’m not angry with you.”

“Aren’t you, Greenblood? You were just scowling like a thundercloud.”

“You called me a delicate flower.”

“You know why I call you Greenblood?” he asked, tapping her blade to begin the session.

“Because I was an awkward, green youth when you became the master at arms?”

“It’s because of that thing growing on your face,” he said, moving through the warm-up forms he’d taught her, though with more power and speed than usual. She adjusted and kept up well enough. “You look like a houseplant, Greenblood,” he taunted. Her expression didn’t change and she kept her eyes fixed on the center of his chest, as she’d been taught. Still, she kept up with the onslaught, so he hit harder until she struggled to keep her blade in position. She still wasn’t pushing through her blocks. They finished the set, then disengaged. “Again, Greenblood. You’re not angry enough yet.”

“You’re just saying what people have been whispering my whole life. Tell me my cherry pie is disgusting, or that Sir De Courcillon found my rhetoric exam last week trite and insipid,” she suggested, a little horrified at herself for revealing the cruelties for which she had no conditioned defenses. She pressed her lips together to keep herself from confessing how much she wanted _his_ approval. She didn’t need to hear him call her a shit fighter when she was sure she was about to have the fact clearly demonstrated to everyone in sight of the courtyard.

“Is that what you care about, Greenblood?” he asked, seeming thoughtful. “Tap off,” he commanded. They began the set again. This time, he changed the pace and fought to get through her guard with finesse, rather than power. “As it stands, my newest recruit could wipe the floor with you, my so-called best student.” He might have imagined it, but it seemed that her lips pressed thin and her brow lowered. Her focus was unwavering, and she was doing a little better at extending her blocks. She still wasn’t pressing half as hard as she needed to. “Every time I move, you flinch like a bitch about to be whipped by her master,” he taunted. “You’re pathetic.”

De Sardet snorted and adjusted her stance ever so slightly. She hadn’t been flinching, but now she was even more aggressive. He let her press the attack through the end of the series.

“That was better, Greenblood,” he praised when they paused.

“What are you talking about?” De Sardet sneered. “I completely lost control of the fight. I was supposed to be defending, not attacking.”

“Can you think of any strike I’ve taught you, other than parries and ripostes, that won’t work for both? If you can, you’re doing them wrong.”

“It’s all offense?” she wondered, looking at the sword in her hand.

“Not when _you_ fight, but it’s supposed to be.”

“I want to do it again.”

“No more warm-ups.” He turned to leave the training square. “Why don’t you go fight Owen so I don’t—”

“Owen won’t hit me,” she interrupted. “If you don’t have time for me, I don’t have time for this.”

“All right, I thought you wanted a reprieve, but you asked for it, Greenblood,” he said, circling back into the training area. “Tap off,” he called, touching his blade to hers. He didn’t wait for her to launch an attack. If she really understood the lesson, it would become obvious very quickly. If not, he’d knock her into the dirt and set her to routine drills for the afternoon. She deflected his strike by angling her blade so that his slid along hers and missed hitting the nearly pristine leather armor that protected her. She ended the strike by turning the blade and pushing out and down, laying the edge along his forearm and slicing weakly at his wrist. She couldn’t have cut through the leather even if her blade had been razor-sharp.

“Are you trying to tickle me?” he shouted at her. He parried and bounced the point of her blade all the way to the ground, then stepped in to thrust the tip of his sword hard against the center of her chest. The leather armor and blunt point on his sword protected her from harm, but the blow knocked her back— she reeled and fell on her ass at the edge of the marked area. She clutched her chest and gasped.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. Go work your basics, Greenblood. You look good holding that sword, but you’re a shit fighter.”

“You ignored a hit, Kurt!” she choked out, clearly furious and in pain.

“In your hand, even the sharpest blade in the armory would have done nothing more than score the leather of my glove. We’re not fencing and I’m done pandering to your ego. Give me half an hour with the scarecrows,” he said as he stalked away to instruct another student.

“Fucking scarecrows,” De Sardet muttered. She dusted herself off and headed in the right direction, but when she was sure Kurt wasn’t looking, she ducked away. She shed her practice gear and kicked it into the courtyard where someone would find it and put it away, then she headed for the conservatory at the base of the southwestern tower, which she anticipated she would find abandoned in favor of a cooler part of the palace. The staff paid her no mind and after she turned down the second corridor, she relaxed, sure that Kurt hadn’t noticed her exit and wasn’t following her. And he wouldn’t unless Constantin found her because he wasn’t _her_ bodyguard, after all.

De Sardet left the doors to the large, circular room open— it was quite hot and open doors would support the illusion that the room was unoccupied. She settled on one of the padded benches and gazed out the window. Even though she knew Kurt didn’t mean most of what he’d said to her, it was still upsetting. Until he voiced the same cruel things she’d been hearing her whole life, she had been able to make herself believe that such things had never crossed his mind. She had no idea how he had guessed what he might say to make her lose her composure, either. It didn’t seem like Kurt to belittle a student, so it must have been calculated. But _how_ did he know exactly what to say? Before she’d had a chance to resolve herself or work herself into a fugue, Constantin appeared.

“Hello, Cousin,” De Sardet said, hiding her inner turmoil. The sight of him did lift her spirits, even though it was somewhat annoying that he had found her so quickly. Kurt, no doubt, would be along shortly, as he always managed to find Constantin soon after he slipped away. Kurt was very good at his job.

Constantin scowled fumed for several silent moments before speaking. “He called you a bitch.”

“I didn’t realize I had an audience. It was a simile. And he wasn’t wrong— I _was_ flinching.”

“I didn’t see you flinch. Every move you made was perfect.”

“Then why did he paint me black and blue?” She gingerly explored the tender spot, which was right atop a bruise from the day before. It hurt. It gave her an idea.

“Because he’s a sadist.”

“Shut up. Can you see the bruise?” she asked, straightening up.

“Unlace your shirt a bit more.”

“My tits will fall out if I unlace it any more.”

“He’ll definitely see the bruise then, won’t he? Won’t be able to take his eyes of it,” Constantin rhapsodized, doing a good job of demonstrating the rapt attention he described.

“And he’ll know I mean for him to.” She tugged the laces a little tighter. “Can you still see it?”

“It’s perfect. Just a tantalizing peek.”

“The bruise, you degenerate.”

“The bruise, fair cousin! Of course the bruise. Your absolutely delectable cleavage is on open display, as, in my opinion, it should be more often.”

“Enough, Constantin. Someone’s going to hear you.”

“Who cares? My parents are already convinced that we’re fucking. The rumors can’t shock them twice.”

“Don’t be crass. I promised your father that he wouldn’t hear any such rumors again, which should be easy since it’s not true to begin with. When did you go speak with him?”

“Why would you promise him anything like that? As if you have any control over what people whisper. And I haven’t even seen him— I spoke with Mother. She was furious that the guards dared put a hand on you, I’d like you to know. She _does_ like you, I keep trying to tell you.”

“She was trying to please _you_ , Constantin,” De Sardet argued, still fussing with her shirt. “It had nothing to do with me, I’m sure.”

“What is it you’re trying to do, anyway? Make Kurt feel guilty or give him blue balls?”

“Gods, as if flashing my tits at him would do anything other than make him nervous. I think he already feels bad about it. I want to get him to touch me.”

“What? Why? You just said—”

“Someone’s coming— probably him,” she interrupted, hearing footsteps in the corridor. “Help me. Let’s see if we can. If he thinks I’m hurt, he’ll have to take a look. He might even rub some salve on it or something. I want him to feel complicit.”

“You are _so_ wicked, fair cousin. But why does he get to shove his hand down your shirt?”

“Don’t be jealous— it’s not like that. It’s about making him consider what led him to that moment.” After everything he said to her, she wanted to remind him that she was a human being just like him. She wanted him to see her vulnerable and to know that she trusted him. It seemed important. She loved provoking a rare blush from the coin guard captain, as well, if she was being completely honest with herself, but that wasn’t the point.

“Fine. If I help you, I get to do whatever you let him do,” Constantin muttered.

Kurt approached, ending their conspiratorial whispers. “There you two are. You’d save a lot of my time if you wouldn’t run off the moment I turn my back after lessons, you know. Did you even finish your drills, Greenblood?””

“You always catch up,” Constantin said. “Gives us all a moment of privacy, anyway. You’ve got to get tired of spending every waking moment with us.”

“Your coin is good, and the two of you aren’t bad company.”

“Tell us about the worst client who hired you as a bodyguard,” Constantin requested, clearly intent on deflecting Kurt’s attention away from De Sardet’s abandonment of her lesson.

“I’ll do you one better— I’ll describe her and you can guess who she is,” Kurt proposed.

“Perfect!”

De Sardet said nothing, for a moment afraid he would describe her.

Kurt sat on a bench across from them. “She was a substantial lady, but her figure didn’t show it— just her round face and sausage fingers.”

“Lady Monteblanc,” Constantin guessed.

“Wrong. She wore her corsets so tight that she frequently fainted, and her lady’s maids couldn’t get her into them— that was part of my job. Squeezing and jouncing and smooshing her into the things, then lacing her up. Every morning. My god, that was one of the most impossible trials I’ve ever overcome. And letting her back out when she was done entertaining for the day was like breaking a dam.”

“Still sounds like Lady Monteblanc,” De Sardet commented. “But of course _she_ would never hire a bodyguard. Another clue, if you please.”

“When she passed wind, it could make your eyes water on the good days. The rest of the time, it was like something crawled up her and died. Sometimes you could taste it. And of course, acknowledging the stench by opening a window or moving upwind, as it were, was an intolerable offense.”

Constantin grimaced. “Oh, it’s Comtess Windham. It must be. I wouldn’t describe her fingers as sausage-like, but her flatulence could kill. I’m pretty sure she hires her guards to do something other than guard her, though, Kurt. Some women find men with scars quite appealing, I’m told. Did I guess right?”

“I feel fortunate to be able to say that you are wrong again. The aristocracy is apparently full of such delightful company. I was unaware. Final clue— also the final straw before I turned in my resignation, although hearing about Comtess Windham makes it seem a little petty now— she had me carry around her little, yapping dog everywhere she went, and she even had the little bitch’s portrait painted while I held her. Do you know how long it takes to sit for a painter? God, I hate lapdogs.”

“That’s Issa! Your client was Dame Perrilond,” Constantin called, sure he was right. “I remember seeing the painting you were talking about, too. It looked so lifelike that I thought it might come alive. But Issa was a darling— she was house-trained, at least, unlike so many of those stupid little creatures. She would tap you with her sweet little paw when she needed a piddle. What a classy little lady. Ah, Dame Perrilond offered me one of Issa’s puppies when I was twelve or something but Father wouldn’t let me have it. He took one look at the pup and said I couldn’t have a mutt. Apparently Issa’s suitors weren’t worthy of her.”

“Damn. I should have known the dog would give it away.”

“We went to her funeral last summer,” De Sardet told him.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “She couldn’t have been forty. I hadn’t heard that Dame Perrilond—”

“No, not her,” Constantin interrupted. “Issa.”

“You’re joking,” Kurt said.

De Sardet laughed and wished Constantin _was_ joking. The way the aristocracy behaved was appalling considering how much good they had the power to affect.

“There were three famous poets there to deliver eulogies,” Constantin said, beaming, “and dinner was served out of dog bowls painted with Issa’s darling face in the bottom. Even the wine. It was amazing.”

“Yes, it was quite a spectacle,” De Sardet agreed. “And as a result, the Prince encouraged her to retire indefinitely to her country villa to consider her values and priorities,” De Sardet explained. “She didn’t receive the requisite branding to make it a proper exile, but I doubt she’ll ever set foot in Serene again. I still have one of the dog bowls somewhere I think.”

“Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving lady,” Kurt said.

“She was really the worst?” Constantin asked.

“I haven’t provided personal security for many clients.”

“Let me guess: only her and us, right?” De Sardet said. “You don’t have anyone else to complain about.”

“You two are trouble, but at least you don’t fart death and expect me to stand still, breathe deep, and keep a straight face.”

De Sardet smiled at him. “Does that mean you’ll help me into a corset when the new ambassador from Hikmet arrives next week?”

“Hah! No.”

“But I don’t even have a lady’s maid,” De Sardet said, frowning.

“And your figure doesn’t need a corset, even if you did decide to wear a dress, which I’m sure you won’t.”

“What do you think all the dress drama I mentioned earlier was about? I _have to_. And, though it may surprise you, yes, my figure requires stiff boning when I’m meant to look like a lady.”

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to hide a smirk.

“You’re not substantial enough for him, fair cousin,” Constantin advised, also trying not to openly smile. “Not enough smooshing involved.”

De Sardet sighed and kept every hint of amusement out of her expression. “Apparently, since he was willing to help Dame Perrilond every morning, and he outright refuses me on one occasion. Some men have peculiar tastes.”

“Whatever you decide to wear, make sure you’ve got a high collar, Greenblood. That bruise is going to light up the room in a few days.”

De Sardet glanced down and tugged the laces of her shirt a little tighter. “You certainly know how to flatter a lady, Kurt.”

“Marigold and arnica would help.”

“How?” De Sardet demanded. “Orange to set off the green and blue?”

“Don’t play stupid, De Sardet.” He dug around in a pouch at his belt for a moment. “Here,” he said handing her a small jar. “Just rub it onto the bruise.”

“It hurts to breathe. I’m not going to rub it!”

“Who’s a prissy baby now?” Constantin teased. “Here, I’ll do it. Unlace your shirt,” he said, taking the jar from her. He poked a finger deep into the salve, digging a hole into the smooth surface. He flicked her shirt further open and her hand darted to catch and press the cloth into place. “Hold still, fair cousin. I’ll try to be gentle,” he said, beginning to poke dots of salve onto her chest. “It really is orange, isn’t it?” he mused. He drew a smiley face and let a glop of salve fall onto the exposed top of her breast. “Oops.”

“You’re making a mess, Constantin,” Kurt chastised. “It’ll stain her shirt.”

“Fine. You do it, then,” Constantin said, shoving the jar into his hands. He wiped his fingers on his pants and sat back to watch.

Kurt sighed. “With your permission, Excellency?”

“Just leave it. It’s going to hurt, and most of the bruise is right on my sternum. ”

“Your cousin already got this goop all over you, so it might as well do some good. May I?” He pulled off his glove and scooped a bit of salve out of the jar.

De Sardet nodded and pulled her shirt further open. She kept an arm pressed against each breast, and she pulled to the sides so it was easier to reach lower onto her sternum. Kurt wasted no time. She groaned as he rubbed the paste onto her bruised flesh.

“Quit complaining and take your medicine,” he muttered, wiping the last of the salve off his hand. He swiped the glop Constantin misplaced and rubbed that in, as well. “There. Put your shirt back to rights.”

“Thank you, Kurt,” Constantin said.

“With due respect, shut it. I know you’re both just trying to fuck with me,” Kurt replied.

“Hah! Sorry, fair cousin. He saw right through us.”

“It hurts,” De Sardet said, ignoring her cousin. “Are you sure that’s the right medicine? It’s tingling.”

“There’s some clove and mint in it to numb the pain, but it tends to burn a bit first. Were you really setting me up, Greenblood?”

“It hurts to breathe or to move. I can feel this fucking bruise with every step I take.”

“Language,” Kurt scolded automatically. “Now answer the fucking question,” he demanded, clearly missing the irony of the timing of his own cursing.

De Sardet sniffed. “If you didn’t think I was yanking your chain, you wouldn’t have seen it for yourself, and you wouldn’t think of excusing me from lessons tomorrow.”

“Do you think people stop trying to kill you when you’re wounded? You have to fight _harder_ when you’re hurt, Greenblood. We’re not training for parade demonstrations anymore.”

“Fuck. _Fuck!_ Kurt, please.”

“Watch your filthy mouth, Greenblood— I mean it. Everybody blames me when they hear your foul language and it is _not_ my fault. And I’m sorry, Ladyship, but you’re not excused on account of a bruise. Keep the rest of this. Rub it on every few hours, and look on the bright side— if it hurts as much as you say, it’ll be a fast lesson, even if it’s only going to leave you with another bruise.”

“I told you he’s a sadist, Manon,” Constantin said. “Come, let’s go drown our problems.”

“I have another argument to prepare for Sir De Courcillon. Go on without me. Or even better, bring a bottle and come to the library with me,” De Sardet suggested.

Constantin considered. “Do you have your dice, Kurt?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect,” De Sardet said. “I’ll get my papers while you two stop by the kitchen.”

“I can’t be in two places at once, so don’t keep us waiting, De Sardet,” Kurt said.

“You can use her given name, you know,” Constantin said. “Mine, too, of course. Just don’t use _all_ of her names. She hates that.”

“I appreciate the thought,” Kurt began, “but I wouldn’t want to start any rumors that I’m overly familiar with my charge and his cousin, after all.”

* * *

“You, my adorable cousin,” Constantin said, leaning over the desk and nearly toppling a stack of books, “have been _blessed_ with an epic name. Kurt, tell her.”

De Sardet rolled her eyes and gathered the at-risk books.

“I don’t think she wants to hear it, highness,” Kurt said, taking a sip from his flask.

Constantin was undeterred. “Soleil Manon Lyonette De Sardet,” he said with grandeur and verve. “You have the sun and a lion in your name. What have I got? Constantin. Constant. _Bor_ ing”

“You got your grandfather’s name, cousin. My name sounds like something made up for a novel,” she complained as she put away the books and folios she’s been referencing. Preparing for her morning lesson had taken more time than she anticipated and both of her companions had been drinking for hours already, though she suspected Kurt’s flask was filled with water.

“Kurt, you love her name, don’t you?” Constantin prompted.

“Kurt loves gold, Constantin,” De Sardet interjected.

“She’s right,” Kurt confirmed.

“Gold and the sun have the same source!” he retorted triumphantly. “And the lion is the king of beasts just as the sun is the ruler of the heavens! They are the same, you see? Manon— beloved— that, too is of the same sympathetic family. The dominance of the sun and the lion are owed to boldness and courage, which originate from the heart, whence love also springs forth.”

“Of course you have learned your lessons on the occult sympathies of the natural world by rote,” De Sardet muttered. “You know it isn’t science, dear cousin, do you not?”

“But there’s such poetry to it, Manon. I know you hate it, but your name suits you perfectly. Kurt, you haven’t said a word. You agree with me, don’t you?”

“Don’t answer,” De Sardet said before Kurt spoke. “He’s drunk.”

“Clearly, Greenblood. I don’t think I’ve ever heard your full name before. I thought it was just Soleil and this sot called you Manon to rile you.”

“You should hear all her titles— she puts me to shame.” He turned to his cousin, “You’re clearly the favorite in the family.”

“You have much to inherit yet, whereas I already have everything I’ll ever get.”

“Hah. My father will live a century to avoid giving me anything more. Kurt, I’m famished. Why don’t you go to the kitchen and find us something.”

“He’s not a servant, Constantin,” De Sardet protested.

“I don’t mind, Greenblood. If you’ll both stay put, I would enjoy a breath of fresh air.”

De Sardet sighed. “Thank you, Kurt.”

When the door closed behind Kurt, Constantin sighed and let himself fall into her lap. “I thought I was going to have to order him to leave so we could talk.”

“What do we have to discuss, Cousin?”

“You’re angry with me. I can tell. Is it because you had to face my father alone?”

“I’m not angry. The conversation was awkward, but it went well.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Since when do I placate you, Constantin?”

“I wasn’t hungry. Let’s go— Kurt will catch up. You look exhausted.”

“Fine. You look like you’ll need help getting to your room,” she said. “Get your jacket at least.” She piled the remains of their earlier meal and two empty bottles on a tray for the servants, then she gathered her folio. Constantin was quietly waiting, leaning against the door frame with his head tipped toward the ceiling and his eyes shut. De Sardet wasn’t sure if Kurt would see it or not, but she turned back to the writing desk she’d been using all evening and left him a note on the built-in slate tablet.

De Sardet underestimated how much support Constantin would need and their progress was slow. She was tall, but he was even taller, so it was a struggle to keep him upright. De Sardet quickly learned that when he began leaning, he picked up momentum very fast. Before they got halfway to her room, which was closer than his, Kurt caught up with them. Without a word, he put Constantin’s arm around his shoulders and got them moving at a respectable pace.

“You promised you’d wait, Greenblood,” Kurt said.

“Did you want me to let him wander off alone?”

“He wouldn’t have gotten far.”

“I left you a note,” De Sardet said, her voice quiet.

“I’m still here, you know,” Constantin reminded them.

“Quite aware,” De Sardet said, adjusting her arm around his waist. “Could you _try_ and stop kicking my ankle?”

“I’ve got him, Greenblood,” Kurt said, taking more of Constantin’s weight. “I’ll see him to his room if you want to turn in.”

“Thank you, Kurt,” De Sardet said.

“We’ll see her to her room first,” Constantin argued. “I want to say goodnight. Help me up the stairs and then wait. Please.”

Kurt sighed, but indulging Constantin’s requests without complaint was a lot of what he was paid to do. When they got to the top of the stairs, Kurt relinquished Constantin to De Sardet. As soon as Constantin wasn’t watching anymore, he followed, just in case she needed a hand.

“You’re spoiled, Constantin,” De Sardet chastised. “And Kurt has the patience of a saint. If you remember any of this, I hope you’re appropriately mortified.”

“I’m determined to live without regrets, my fair cousin,” Constantin argued.

When they got to her room, Constantin followed her in and scowled at Kurt, who was a short distance behind them in the corridor. “I knew you were there the whole time, Kurt,” he said before closing the door.

“He was there to help if I dropped you, Constantin.”

“I don’t care,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “I asked him to wait,” he extrapolated as he pulled her closer against him and bent to rest his head on her shoulder. “You are so dear to me, Manon.”

“And you’re my favorite person, Constantin,” she said, putting her arms around him to steady him. His arms tightened and she let go. “But don’t squeeze me so— I can’t breathe.”

Constantin pressed his lips to her neck, and as he straightened up, he pulled the dangling cord that laced her shirt collar.

De Sardet stopped his hand with hers and pulled away. “You’re drunk, Constantin.”

“Not that drunk. Let me stay here tonight.”

“People will talk. Your father— ”

“I don’t care,” he interrupted. “I’ll leave before dawn. I just want to be with you. I can’t stop thinking of you when we’re apart. Is that insane?”

“A bit, yes. You need to go. I’m not going to let you shove your hand down my shirt— I never agreed.”

He straightened. “You didn’t. That’s fair. But it doesn’t change anything— I’m not here to grope you.”

“Then what do you want? You shouldn’t keep Kurt waiting, you know.”

“What do I want? I want this obsession to end. If I tell you, do you promise you won’t judge me for it?”

“Not even if I could keep a promise like that. It’s a trap, Constantin.”

“Fair enough,” he said, swaying as he pulled away from her. “I probably shouldn’t tell you anyway.” Constantin leaned in and kissed her sloppily, then stalked away. He didn’t pull the door closed behind him, and when she reached to shut it, Kurt pushed his way in.

“Forgive me, Ladyship. He seems angry, and he hasn’t gotten this shit-faced in a long time— is everything all right?”

“Don’t concern yourself, Kurt. See you tomorrow.”

“May I ask you a frank question?”

“Why not?” De Sardet sighed.

“I’ve heard a rumor, and seeing this, I’m concerned. Is he pressuring you or behaving inappropriately?”

“Damn it. That rumor is false, and I was told it wouldn’t be repeated. I paid well so that it wouldn’t be.”

“Silence is hard to buy. If the story isn’t true, what started it?”

“My cousin and I took a nap, and the coin guards who happened upon us apparently chose to withhold certain details about what they observed for the sake of a more scandalous story.”

“I see. If that’s the case, and if you’re sure you don’t want a more proactive chaperon, then I’ll make sure those whispers quiet down.”

“Wonderful idea, though it’s obviously too late now to contain the rumor. And I don’t need you to protect me from Constantin. He wouldn’t know how to pressure me, as you so delicately put it, even if he wished to. Good night, Kurt,” she said, pushing him into the hall so she could close the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That first chapter was a tough act to follow. Let me know what you liked!


	3. Lessons Learned

The bells in the assembly hall tower across town rang the hour, and Soleil picked up the small volume of poetry she’d been perusing over lunch. She left her tray for the staff to take care of and was about to leave the kitchen through the door that led to the courtyard when Kurt came in through the servants’ entrance. She tucked her book under her arm and folded her hands behind her back.  
“Hello, Greenblood. You’d better hurry to the training yard if plan to be on time.”  
“Kurt, I’m glad I bumped into you. I owe you an apology.”  
“What have you done now, Greenblood?” Kurt asked as he cut himself a slice from a loaf of dark bread.  
“I was defensive and rude last night while, on the other hand, you were thoughtful and kind. Please forgive me— I will do my best to be more conscientious in the future.”  
“You don’t need to apologize to me,” Kurt dismissed, folding his bread around some pickled turkey. “I was only trying to do my job, but I may have overstepped,” he said, not looking at her.  
“Well, categorically, you did. Constantin is your job. And weapons training. I am not.”  
“You are, as a matter of fact,” he said, glancing up at her. “But even if you weren’t, I have to protect Constantin from running wild and hurting people who love him too much to tell him no. That would break his heart or turn him into a monster. What kind of shit bodyguard would I to be to let that happen to my charge?”  
“I see. Thank you, Kurt. At moments like this, I regret that we’re just a professional obligation.”  
“It’s really the only way someone like me could be anything to the two of you. I like my job— quite a lot,” he added before taking a bite of his lunch.  
“And I’m quite confident that I can speak for Constantin as well as myself when I say you’re our favorite shadow out of all of them.”  
“Not your favorite master of arms?” he prompted with a smile. “Have I been too rough on you, delicate flower?”  
“This still hurts,” she said, drawing two fingers down from the dip between her collarbones to the top of the bruise. Kurt’s eyes flicked to follow the motion, but quickly returned to her face “Will you excuse me from a lesson today?”  
“Not a chance, Greenblood.”  
“Hm.” She maintained eye contact until he looked away.  
Kurt shook his head. “Use some of that salve I gave you before we square off and you’ll barely feel a thing. I didn’t expect this much whining from you.”  
“I assume Constantin’s inevitable whining is why you haven’t gone so hard on him yet?”  
“As soon as you’re in decent fighting shape, hitting him is going to be your job, actually.”  
“Oh, I can’t wait. Enjoy your lunch.”  
“Where are you going? Training yard’s that way.”  
“I’m going to go get ready for my lesson as you suggested. Do you want to lend a hand?” she offered, watching his reaction carefully.  
Kurt smiled and snorted. “I’ll see you in the courtyard,” he said, turning his back on her and his attention to his lunch. “Don’t be late,” he added as she hurried off.

De Sardet deflected and stepped aside, leaving Kurt out of position, but she didn’t press her attack. She was sure that if she did, it would only be a matter of moments before something went wrong and she ended up bruised and on the ground.  
“Quit dancing, De Sardet!” Kurt snarled at her.  
She didn’t react. Kurt renewed his attack and she smoothly gave ground and reversed her grip on her blade. With her sword point aimed at the ground and the blade acting as a vertical barrier, it was easier to counter feints.  
“How are you going to hit me now, Greenblood?” Kurt taunted without slowing his onslaught.  
De Sardet concentrated on deflecting his blade and didn’t hesitate to step out of the way. “I thought you were going to hit me, Master,” she said, stepping in behind a block rather than giving ground again. The spin put Kurt far to her right, and when he struck, she reached out to meet his blade with hers, but she let the block weaken and used her back hand to push Kurt’s weapon out of position. With her sword still reversed, she needed the extra moment to clear her blade from his and land a thrust above his hip. His weapon bumped her ankle, but with her full weight behind the thrust pushing him away, his touch lacked power.  
“Hold,” Kurt called, staggering back. “Well done, Greenblood.” He rubbed his side.  
“You tagged my ankle,” she said.  
“That’s true, and it’s not a hit you want to risk taking— ankles are delicate, even in armor. You could have shifted your weight to your back leg at the right moment in order to pack more power behind your thrust and avoid the touch. Let’s walk through it and see if you can do it at half speed. Stance,” he called, resuming the position he had been in before the hit.  
De Sardet contained her disappointment that Kurt was so unphased by the strike and obeyed. She went through the motions, but at a controlled pace, she couldn’t quite get the final strike right.  
“You have to commit to it,” Kurt advised. “If the strike doesn’t land, you should expect to kiss the cobbles. Do it right this time.”  
“So you can step aside and see me fall on my face?” she asked.  
“What would you do in that case?”  
“Pucker up, I suppose,” she answered.  
Kurt tried not to smile. “I won’t side-step this time. I want to see if you can get your footwork right. Full speed. Pay attention to the rhythm of the fight. Stance.”  
They reset their positions and ran through the series again. She botched it twice, but on the third try, she began to shift her weight earlier than on the previous attempts, and when she did, she could tell that the strike would be a killing blow, and the timing left her a better opportunity to target the strike. Kurt dropped his blade and caught her cross-guard with both hands, which saved him from the hit but still gave her the resistance she needed to avoid falling.  
“Perfect!” he said, clapping her on the shoulder once she had regained her balance. “There was power behind that, De Sardet. You could feel the fight, couldn’t you?”  
She couldn’t help but smile. She could feel the fight, not that she could have described what it meant other than that every movement seemed to fit like a piece of a puzzle. “It was so different than ever before,” she confirmed. “The rhythm… I don’t know what changed, but I could feel it.”  
“And you stopped holding back. Go run your drills, but do it like you mean it,” he said, picking up his practice blade.  
“But what if you’d blocked?”  
“That’s the next lesson. Figure it out before then if you can.”  
De Sardet saluted, then left the sparring ring. She found Constantin watching from the sidelines and wished that he would leave her be. She wanted to focus and let what she had felt sink in.  
“That was amazing,” Constantin said, stepping to her side. “He’s practically doubled over now that you’re not watching— you skewered him, Manon.”  
“I don’t think he’s that bad off,” she said. “I have to run drills, Constantin. Why don’t you go get your lesson with Kurt done now that he’s softened up?”  
“Great idea. Have fun killing scarecrows.”  
“My mortal enemies,” she said, relieved that he didn’t insist on accompanying her.  
Over the next half hour, De Sardet destroyed her practice dummy. She’d seen the scarecrows break before, but she’d never done it herself. The wooden frame, of course, remained intact, but the wicker and straw-stuffed leather that added bulk was completely destroyed by the time she was done. Sweat trickled down her back where her shirt wasn’t plastered to her body, and she suspected she would regret her vigor when she woke up the next morning.  
“This is your first kill, isn’t it, Greenblood,” Kurt said, kicking a bundle of woven willow branches.  
De Sardet laughed. “He’s had it coming for a while.”  
“Let me see your sword-hand,” Kurt said.  
She pulled her hand free of the protective leather glove and let Kurt examine her palm. He pressed the calluses. “Does that hurt?”  
“No blisters, Master.”  
“Good. Figure out what to do if you’ve over-committed to a horizontal fleche?”  
“What, we’re fencing now? And is it still a fleche if it’s down-blade?”  
“Not really, but you’ve got the same problem if you miss. How do you land it?”  
“On my front foot, of course. My timing has been wrong for that, but that’s got to be the answer.”  
“Maybe. Or, since the lunge gets you closer to the ground, you could tuck your shoulder and roll. Use your stiletto in your back hand, and let’s see what you can do.”  
“Now?”  
“Now, Greenblood,” he said, already headed back to the sparring ring.  
“Fuck,” she muttered.  
“Stance,” Kurt called when they were both in the ring. “We’ll run through it a few times first.”  
“And then?”  
“We spar and you try and make it work without me holding still for you. If you can’t control your opponent enough to create the openings you need, what good is training? Stop frowning. Isn’t that exactly what your rhetoric exams are? You lead your listener along and make him think of things in a certain way so your argument, when you finally drive the point home, meets no resistance?”  
“I hadn’t thought of it like that. I’m ready,” she said, taking her stance and tapping his sword with her own.  
It took half a dozen repetitions for her to adjust the timing so she could land on her front foot in a stable position. She managed to roll the first time she tried— learning to fall and roll with live steel had been the first set of drills Kurt insisted she and Constantin master— but Kurt had his blade on the back of her neck before she got her feet under her. She lost count of how many times she tried, but she couldn’t figure out how to make it work.  
“That’s enough,” Kurt said eventually. “You take some time to think about what to do with your back hand to keep my blade off your neck, and we’ll try it another day. For now, don’t roll. Blade up. See if you can create the opening you need. Remember, rhetoric and debate. This is the same.”  
“It’s a nice metaphor, but it’s really not the same, Master. Ready,” she said, reversing her grip to begin the bout in pro-blade position before tapping his sword with hers. De Sardet did her best to conserve her energy— her muscles were nearly trembling with fatigue before they began, and she had a feeling that the lesson wasn’t going to be over until she improved on the hit she had scored at the beginning of the lesson, or she collapsed.  
She thought Kurt seemed to favor the side she’d hit, so she aimed her feints accordingly. He didn’t flinch, but he was definitely more protective and reactive than usual. She used it to her advantage, and without reversing her grip, she tried the horizontal fleche, landing on her front foot. Kurt tapped her blade aside and gave ground to avoid the hit. She switched to down-blade to block his counter, then reversed her stiletto as well. She repeated the move just as she’d been practicing and tucked her shoulder to roll, but this time, she reached out as she rolled and kept her secondary weapon in contact with Kurt’s blade. She slashed up and across his body with her main hand as she got her feet under her, then reversed the strike and drove the point home as she rose from a crouch. At the same time, she shoved the stiletto against his blade, and the combined force threw him off-balance. He grunted and staggered, but didn’t fall.  
“Hold,” he called. He stood for a few moments with a hand on his knee.  
“Are you well, Master?” she asked.  
He straightened. “Fantastic. That was well done, Greenblood. Go get cleaned up and give Sir De Courcillon my apologies for keeping you late.”  
De Sardet saluted and Kurt returned the gesture, officially ending the lesson. Constantin approached from the sidelines once again. “Kurt,” he said, his voice quiet, “you should know that my father was observing from the gallery.” He smiled and threw an arm around De Sardet, “And you, my fair cousin, were magnificent. You looked so fierce and graceful. How did you manage that roll without getting stabbed? It was so fast that I couldn’t even see what you did.”  
“She used her stiletto to control my blade. I thought that was going to take a week for you to figure out, Greenblood. You’ve made more progress with your practical blade-work today than you have in the past year. But congratulate yourself later. You’re expected elsewhere.”

Constantin joined her in the armory almost as soon as she left the practice yard. He always ducked out of his lesson with Kurt early and the coin guard never stopped him. De Sardet racked her practice gear, then wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, then realized she’d probably just left a muddy smear on her face.  
“I can’t believe what I just witnessed,” Constantin said as he fell into step beside her as she headed for the curtained corner of the room that held a mirror and a washbasin— not exclusively placed there for her and Constantin, but they were the only ones who used the practice yard who also found it necessary to compose their appearances before they walked the halls of the rest of the palace. “You destroyed him, Manon.”  
“Oh, and that’s so surprising that you find yourself incredulous? Thank you, dear cousin, for your confidence.”  
“But you didn’t witness it as I did— I’ve never seen you fight like that.”  
“Well, I see myself now,” she said, glaring at the mirror, “and if I don’t get cleaned up before I’m seen, I’ll be a laughingstock.”  
“You are a bit smudged and awry. Let me fix your hair for you while you wash your face.”  
“Thank you,” she said, pouring tepid water from a pitcher onto a linen cloth. She tried to keep her head still as she cleaned the dust from her face, neck, and hands. Constantin unraveled her braid and ran his fingers through her hair, straightening it and collecting the wisps that had escaped during her lesson.  
When De Sardet was done cleaning away the dust, she folded the cloth and draped it over the basin. “What are you doing, Constantin?”  
“Nearly done,” he said.  
“No, you’re not. You said you’d braid it, and it’s still all over the place!”  
“I said I’d fix it, and I have. Take a look. You’re stunning.”  
“Constantin, why?” she groaned when she saw what he’d done. Half of her hair was drawn up into an elaborate twist and the rest flowed down her back. It was a fashionable style at court, and he’d done a good job. Paired with her doublet and trousers, however, she felt ridiculous.  
“Because it was faster than a braid, and it suits you. Come on, you’re late,” he said, tugging her away from the mirror. He had her folio of notes tucked under his arm— she didn’t know when he’d retrieved them from her room, but she was glad he had or they would be very late.  
“It looks like I’m trying to hide my mark,” she said, scowling at him.  
“Nobody who knows you will think that,” he said, passing her the folio of their notes and closing the door behind them.  
“Yet they’ll delight to use it against me. Why do you think your father was watching our lesson with Kurt?”  
“Who knows? Maybe he was just passing by. Maybe he watches you every day, and we’ve just never noticed.”  
“I doubt that. And I’m sure he wasn’t there to watch me.”  
“I’m sure he was watching you. He didn’t even glance at me.”  
“It’s more likely he was watching Kurt. The Prince trusts him immensely, but that necessarily comes with intense scrutiny.”  
“I suppose. Oh, fortune,” Constantin said as they rounded a corner and found Prince D’Orsay standing in the corridor, examining a large landscape on the wall.  
The Prince turned to face them. De Sardet would not have called the change in his expression a smile, but his face seemed to brighten. From the Prince, it was as good as a smile.  
De Sardet smiled back and bowed. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” she said as she straightened.  
“Hello, Father,” Constantin said, bowing as slightly as decorum permitted.  
“Constantin, Soleil, I’m pleased to have caught you,” the Prince began. He adjusted his grip on the ornate, ivory and brass walking stick in his gloved hand. “I was beginning to worry that you’d gone through the servants’ entrance to the tower.”  
“Sir De Courcillon insists that our presence disrupts the staff,” De Sardet told him.  
“So it does. Constantin, please continue to your lesson. Soleil will be along presently, but I require her attention immediately.”  
“Of course, Father,” Constantin said. He reached out to take the folder from De Sardet— his work was stored with hers and if he arrived without it, he’d have to recite king lists or conjugate verbs in the language his thrice-great grandfathers spoke. He might have to anyway. “See you soon, fair cousin,” he said, kissing her on the cheek before hurrying away.  
“Walk with me, niece,” the prince said, offering her his arm.  
“How can I be of assistance, Uncle?” she asked, placing her hand on the purple and gold brocade covering his forearm.  
“The ambassador from Theleme informed me that you visited him two days ago.”  
De Sardet sighed. “That is true. I botched a block during weapons training and the evidence was quite noticeable. I sought healing in order to protect my pride.”  
“He told me it was quite ghastly,” the Prince said, his tone and inflection reminding De Sardet strongly of Constantin. “Has this happened before?”  
“It’s fighting, not dancing,” De Sardet began, quite aware of the dangerous edge to the Prince’s question. “But no, I’ve never needed a healer, not even to salvage my dignity. Was it wrong for me to ask a favor of the ambassador?”  
“Well, on principle, I like to keep the delegations from our allies in my debt, but this is hardly a weighty favor. You could spend an afternoon listening to his nonsense in order to balance the books, as it were, if you wish to take responsibility for it, though I hardly care enough to ask it of you.”  
“I’ll find the time for it,” she said. “Is there anything else?”  
“There is. Tell me about your lesson today with the master of arms.”  
“Master Kurt is trying to teach me the practical application of all the drills and exercises that have occupied me and Constantin for the past several years. I feel like at this moment I have an entirely different understanding of swordplay than I did this morning, which was entirely different than that with which I began the week. A little blood and some bruises are well worth such a breakthrough in my lessons.”  
“I see. And it was your master at arms who injured you two days ago?”  
“It was my shoddy defense, Uncle.”  
“But Kurt was the one who struck you?” the Prince said, stopping and turning to face her. “And he intended to do so?”  
“I’m sure he hoped I would be able to block the strike.”  
“He hoped. I will have to—”  
“How could I learn to fight without fighting?” she interrupted, hoping the Prince would forgive her impertinence. “He’s doing his job, Your Majesty, and he’s doing it very well. He could have delegated the task to a less skilled swordsman, but he always gives us his best.”  
The Prince’s clear, blue eyes seemed cold and hard, but De Sardet met his gaze without flinching. Finally, the Prince turned away and they resumed their stroll. “I can see that you have a clear opinion on the matter. Has he pursued the same course of instruction with Constantin?”  
“No. Not yet.”  
“Then he knows he treads thin ice and surges ahead regardless.”  
“Kurt is a clever and intelligent instructor, even if he lacks much formal education— as ever, you have provided the best of tutors. Constantin says he saw you in the gallery today. Did you see me fight?”  
“I did, niece. What of it?”  
“Kurt didn’t let me hit him— I did that myself. I’ve never done it before today— not without him allowing it. Before today, some common thug in any back alley of Serene could have plucked my goose and I wouldn’t have had the faintest clue how he did it. I’m so good at parade drills, but that isn’t anything like fighting. It’s not even anything like fencing, and I know what you think of that.”  
“Don’t think to dictate my opinion to me, Soleil.”  
“That wasn’t my intent. Please don’t punish Kurt. If anything, he deserves a bonus for sticking his neck out to teach me something real.”  
“I see. And is that the only real thing, as you put it, that our dear master at arms is teaching you?”  
“I… what?”  
“You know of what I speak. Forgive my suspicion, it’s just that you argue so eloquently in his defense. He who bruised and bloodied you. What else could explain your impassioned response?”  
De Sardet smiled and shook her head. “Ah. Kurt knows his place, and unlike many, he is never pretentious. I doubt he’d teach me that even if I paid him to. And if you speak with Sir De Courcillon, he will tell you that whenever I argue, I do so eloquently and passionately, regardless of the topic.”  
“Hah! My darling girl, I know that about you for myself. Well, if you are pleased with your master at arms, it pleases me that your blade will soon be as dangerous as your wit. Do see if you can drag my son along with you as you rise, Soleil. I would be eternally grateful.”  
“One day, I believe Constantin will surprise us all,” she said. “But I have no intention of leaving his side.”  
“Then you must hurry back to him. I’m sure both he and Sir De Courcillon are missing you sorely at this very moment.”  
“Your Majesty,” she said, bowing once again.

“Ah, my classroom is now complete,” De Courcillon said as De Sardet entered the circular room at the top of the north tower— every bit of shelf space was stuffed with neglected atlases and volumes of obscure biographies and historical accounts of the territories that had come to be governed by the Congregation of Merchants. She tried to slow and quiet her breathing, but the Prince’s stroll had taken her further away from her destination, and she couldn’t turn around and run down the hall as soon as he released her, so instead, she took the stairs as quickly as she could, but now, she regretted that choice.  
“Take a seat, De Sardet. We had just run out of strong verbs to conjugate. I would love to return to the discussion we left off yesterday in the few minutes we have left.”  
“My apologies, Professor,” De Sardet said, sitting next to Constantin, who was busy organizing his notes and didn’t look up at her. “If I recall, we were examining a rather graphic passage about the rule of the pre-Congregation tyrants.”  
“Quite so. Constantin, I’d like you to lead this discussion. Summarize the narrative, please.”  
“Ugh. The tyrant arrested the diplomatic delegations from the other territories and executed them. Gruesomely. He was clearly deranged. The last one….” Constantin grimaced.  
“The last one took two weeks to die,” De Sardet picked up. “When they broke open the box he’d been sealed into—”  
“You were not assigned to study that passage,” De Courcillon interrupted. “I warned you not to read ahead. Why didn’t you listen?”  
“Why did you think she’d stop reading?” Constantin asked. “I begged her to put the book down, but she wouldn’t shut up.”  
“Well, the harm is done. What did you learn?”  
“That the tyrant was a madman?” Constantin said.  
“He was cruel, but he was clever,” De Sardet argued. “And the fear he inspired did convince his neighbors to leave his territory and pay the tribute he demanded.”  
“So it was justified, De Sardet?” Courcillon asked.  
“That’s not a productive question. He could have achieved the same end in another way. What he accomplished may not have been the best result. It may not even have been his intent.”  
“What, in your opinion, is a productive question, then?  
“What would justify emulating his behavior? What else could produce the same result? What could work even better?”  
“Excellent. Constantin?”  
“Professor?”  
“How would you answer your cousin? You, after all, may one day face a situation—”  
“Don’t even say it,” Constantin interrupted. “I wouldn’t do it for anything.”  
“Not even to spare your people a similarly gruesome fate?” The professor sighed. “Remember that anyone, including diplomats and messengers, who was loyal to him in foreign territory could have been arrested as a spy. The tyrant did to the ambassadors what their nations did to traitors.”  
“Only ten times worse!” Constantin protested. “He had guards force-feed the man in the box milk and honey for two weeks. That poor soul didn’t die of starvation as traitors in his homeland were meant to, he died of all the vermin that crept into the box with him.”  
“And into him,” De Sardet muttered. “Dead is dead, is it not?” she mused. “Starvation can take weeks, and I understand it’s neither peaceful nor painless, Constantin.”  
“Listen to yourself! You’re going to be an ambassador one day, Manon! How can you be so callous?”  
“Would you prefer that I weep and cower in fear?”  
“No, of course not. What would that serve?”  
“If my fate concerns you, you must master these lessons, Cousin. You must be a man that none would willingly cross for one reason or another. If you wish to protect me, your other ambassadors, and your advisers, you must be the kind of ruler that none would dare offend and whose friendship is too valuable to risk losing.”  
“Well said, Soleil. Constantin, this course of study is not meant to push you to emulate the cruelty of the early tyrants, but to help you understand and learn from their mistakes.”  
“I know that.”  
“Good. We can learn just as much by studying the neighboring city-states and territories. You correctly observed that the executions were exaggerations of the punishment for treason. What would he have done if the punishment had been exile?”  
“Exposure,” Constantin woodenly suggested. “Why not?”  
“Wait, did he execute every foreign diplomat in Serene?” De Sardet asked, hoping to redirect the discussion somewhat. Constantin’s despondency was not a good sign— he often felt overwhelmed by the content of their history lessons, but digressions into the semantics of their translation, or debates about the particulars of the situation often engaged his curiosity and provided a remedy for melancholy. The last thing she wanted was for Constantin decide he needed to traipse into town and roll through nine different taverns before dawn to make himself feel better about what they’d read for their history lesson.  
“What does your text say?” De Courcillon asked.  
“He… seized the ambassadors of… hostile city-states,” Constantin translated, glancing at their notes, then correcting a line.  
“Unhelpful, since the text doesn’t say which ones were hostile or if all of them were,” De Sardet said. “Count how many he executed. Do we have a map from the correct period, Professor?”  
“We do, indeed, Soleil,” he said, already searching the bookshelf for the appropriate atlas as Constantin flipped pages in their text.  
“Twelve,” Constantin said when he finished scanning the passage. He wrote something down in their notes. “How do we know how many were at court, though?”  
“There would have been one from every power in the territory, at least,” De Courcillon said.  
“And you don’t know how many that would have been?” Constantin asked.  
“I’m more familiar with the current political landscape than that from two hundred years ago, your highness. Here is the appropriate map. My, it’s very faded. We’ll have to have this copied.”  
“Let me see,” De Sardet said, taking the atlas to her table. She tapped the map and counted territories. “There are definitely more than twelve. Can you imagine trying to please that many monarchs?”  
“So what does that mean?” Constantin asked as his quill scratched another tidbit of information into their notes.  
“He removed all the diplomats, but he only killed the ones who represented the most brutal kingdoms,” De Sardet answered. Constantin seemed more engaged, but the topic was still very dark.  
“Why would he do that?” Constantin said.  
“A good question to ponder until we meet again in three days, my clever pupils,” the professor said. “This is a fascinating line of inquiry, but we are, regrettably, out of time and I have following appointments. Do try not to be so late for your next lesson, De Sardet?”  
“She won’t be late,” Constantin promised. “Well, unless the prince once again suddenly requires her company for some reason. But there is a benefit to your tardiness, fair cousin— I’m getting very good at the strong verbs.”  
“The Prince?” De Courcillon asked. “I hope everything is all right.”  
“My uncle was concerned that our master at arms has grown reckless— I was mildly injured during a lesson the other day. The fault was mine, of course, and the matter is settled.”  
“Hah. Of course,” Constantin scoffed.  
“Kurt is an excellent instructor. Sometimes I forget he’s coin guard.”  
“I agree, Professor. You know, the other day, Kurt likened swordplay to a well-developed argument. I thought it was an insightful metaphor.”  
“Did he now? I shall have to ask him to elaborate on that premise for me sometime. We often think of debate as a battle of intellect, but to reverse the metaphor and call the clash of steel an argument of blades does intrigue me. I think he’s quite right.”  
Constantin cleared his throat. “Are you coming or not, Manon?”  
“Thank you, Professor. Have a pleasant evening,” De Sardet said.  
“You as well,” he returned absently. His attention was again on the old book of maps.  
She picked up the folio of notes and followed Constantin out of the professor’s study.  
“Why are you snapping at me?” she asked.  
“Oh, no reason. Just forget about it. What did my father really want, though?”  
“It really was about Kurt. The Theleme priest told your father he had healed me and now I have to go listen to a sermon to discharge the debt.”  
“And Kurt? Is he in trouble for hurting you?”  
“I never know for sure with the Prince, but I did my best to convince him not to punish Kurt.”  
“Good. You know, when he split your lip, I wanted to see him punished for it, but now I think you were right— I always thought you were a good fighter, but seeing you today was something else. And if you really are going to be my ambassador someday, I want to know you’re capable of leading an army from the front lines and coming home to me victorious.”  
“That’s quite a lively fantasy, Constantin, and your grasp of the role of an ambassador seems hazy,” she said, smiling at him. “Although, personally, I’d like to know you could fight side-by-side with me should the need arise.”  
“Just give me a rifle and a bit of cover. I’ll pick off your foes before they can touch you.”  
De Sardet wrapped her arms around him and dragged him back a step. “I know you would,” she said, crashing them against the wall. She kissed his cheek and rested her head in the crook of his neck. “Want to do something scandalous?”  
“How dare you even ask,” Constantin said, finally smiling. “What did you have in mind, Manon?”  
“Well, since you’re not drunk at the moment, how would you feel about telling me what you wanted to say last night?”  
Constantin’s hands tightened on her hips. “Hah. No. Saying it is… beyond folly.”  
“Shall I guess?” she murmured in his ear.  
“No.”  
“Come to my room with me,” she said, nuzzling his neck. “I won’t say anything.”  
“Stop, Manon,” he said, pushing her gently away. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I know you don’t really want to.”  
“Why wouldn’t I?”  
“Social stigma? A natural aversion to incest? I don’t know. How would I? You pretend you don’t, but I know you know how I feel about you, and none of that would stop me.”  
“But something is. What?”  
Constantin shook his head and pressed his lips together. “I don’t want to lose you for anything. Especially not something so trite as—”  
“Am I interrupting something important,” Kurt called from down the hall.  
“Yes,” De Sardet answered. “Fuck off, Kurt.”  
“Greenblood? Didn’t recognize you. Watch your language. Oy, Constantin, is she bothering you?” he asked.  
“No,” Constantin said, his tone light. He smiled and squeezed her hand, then let go.  
“What do you mean you didn’t recognize me?” De Sardet asked, crossing her arms over her chest.  
“Your hair. Didn’t know it was that long. I’ve never seen you wear it down.”  
“Constantin styled it for me after you made a mess of it,” she explained.  
“Me? What the devil did I do?”  
“You made her roll around in the dirt for an hour,” Constantin said, clearly bored. “Do you have your dice with you, Kurt?”  
“Yeah, but how about some whist instead?” Kurt suggested, producing a deck from his pocket.  
“Whist? What are we, old maids?” Constantin scoffed.  
“Wait till you see the deck I picked up. Definitely not old maids. There are a few lads in there too, I believe, for the sake of pleasing a wide audience. What do you say?”  
“Is that the deck by Maestro Umbricius I’ve been hearing about?” Constantin eagerly questioned.  
“The very same. I understand that you were prevented from acquiring one for yourself by certain concerned guardians, but nobody gives a shit if I’ve got such a thing in my pocket.”  
“I take back every horrible thing I’ve ever said about you, Kurt. It’s your turn to raid the kitchen, Manon,” Constantin said. “To the conservatory!” he said, eagerly leading the way.  
“I’m right behind you, your highness,” Kurt said, looking at De Sardet. He raised an eyebrow.  
“What?” De Sardet asked.  
“Something I should know about so I don’t embarrass myself or anyone else? Did you forget he’s your cousin, Greenblood?”  
“It wasn’t going anywhere. He’s been chasing because I was running. So I stopped running to see what he would do,” she said quietly. “He made the right choice.”  
“And what if he hadn’t? Would you have gone through with what you were pushing on him?”  
“It wouldn’t have come to that. You always find us soon after we leave the tower,” De Sardet dismissed.  
“I can’t say I like being used like that, Greenblood.”  
“I wasn’t using you, I was relying on you. I’ll send a servant with dinner and wine, but I won’t be joining you this evening.”  
“I understand. No lesson tomorrow. Do yourself a favor and go soak before your muscles stiffen up. You worked hard today.”  
“Now you show mercy.” She pulled the jar of salve from the pouch at her hip. “Let me know if you want help with your bruises, Kurt,” she said, handing it to him. As he grasped the jar, she closed her hand around his.  
Kurt sighed and didn’t try to pull away, but he also didn’t meet her eyes. “If I’ve given you the impression that you might need to scare me off like you just did with Constantin, I apologize, Greenblood. Me chasing you would be like hunting a unicorn, and I’m not a fool.”  
“Only pure-hearted virgins can hunt unicorns— bait that would not work on me, I promise you,” De Sardet grumbled.  
“I’m not sure how you want me to take that, but I truly hope I haven’t offended you. At least Constantin will be coming back any moment to find out why we didn’t follow. He’s reliable, too, in that way.”  
“And you have exposed another flaw in my rhetoric,” she said, finally releasing him. “How am I this terrible at something that should be simple?”  
Constantin reappeared at the end of the corridor. “Come on, Kurt! I could have been murdered twice already, you know!” he called.  
“We’re going to have a frank talk about this soon, Greenblood.”  
“Enjoy whist, Kurt.”  
“Goodnight, my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Jalice, for giving me a nudge to get this cleaned up and posted, and extra thanks for beta-ing. This chapter is much better thanks to you. :)


	4. Art, Artist, Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opposing theories of art, gift-giving, and separation anxiety.

“How was whist yesterday evening?” De Sardet asked. She didn’t look up from her book.  
“It was a religious experience,” Constantin said. “An epiphany.”  
Kurt raised an eyebrow. “He lost us all thirteen tricks— against a pair of stable-hands who have straw and horse dung for brains— because he wouldn’t let go of his favorites. Then we played solo, and he kept losing, but at least he wasn’t dragging me down with him.”  
“Your favorites? What is he talking about— the illustrations can’t be that good,” De Sardet said, setting her book aside.  
“You’re wrong, Manon. Ah, my darlings,” Constantin sighed. “It was worth it. Those clods couldn’t have appreciated the beauty before them.”  
“Yes, yes, pearls before swine. You’re a terrible and selfish whist partner, Excellency,” Kurt grumbled.  
De Sardet shook her head. “Oh my. I can’t believe you’re infatuated with a pack of cards, Constantin.”  
“You would understand if you hadn’t ditched us, dear cousin.”  
“You’re right. I apologize. This does give me an idea, though. Your birthday is soon— unfortunately, we already know what happens if a deck like that is discovered in your possession, and I’m sure Kurt would get the blame for its acquisition, but I wonder how much Maestro Umbricius would charge for a commission of a different sort,” she mused. “Something, at least, that wouldn’t be as obvious as a pack of cards.” Constantin’s face lit up with hope and longing.  
“No,” Kurt snapped. “Not a _chance_ you’re going anywhere near Paper Street to inquire.” When he realized that De Sardet’s expression hadn’t changed, he sighed. “Not without me and at least three more coin guards,” he amended, understanding the futility of forbidding the visit.  
“Paper Street, you say?” De Sardet said, tapping her lip. “It makes sense that they’d need to be on the river— raw materials for his sculptures would be all but impossible to deliver by cart.”  
“Fuck. Don’t. Bad things will happen to you, Greenblood,” Kurt said. He turned to face Constantin, “And you would be in no less danger,” he warned.  
“It can’t be that bad,” De Sardet argued. “Aren’t the docks worse? We go there all the time, and all I have to do is rattle my sword or swish aside my coat to flash my pistol and nobody bothers us.”  
“You are both uncommonly lucky,” Kurt muttered, rubbing his face. “But, no, the docks aren’t the most dangerous part of town by a long shot. The Nauts keep the worst human filth away from their territory. Paper Street is another matter entirely.”  
“Well, I want to meet Maestro Umbricius,” De Sardet stated. “What am I to do? It doesn’t seem I have a choice.”  
“You spoiled shit,” Kurt muttered.  
“And you wonder why people think you taught us to swear,” Constantin teased their exasperated bodyguard.  
Kurt shook his head. “Fine. Don’t go without me,” he said, jabbing a finger at De Sardet. “Promise me.”  
“You have my word,” De Sardet agreed.  
“Both of you,” the coin guard said, turning to Constantin.  
“Fine. I promise,” Constantin said. “When can we go?”  
“When I say you can go.”  
“I wonder why such a successful artist has a studio in such a terrible part of town,” De Sardet mused.  
“Bet the rent is cheap,” Constantin guessed. “Maybe he’ll draw us. Would you sit for a sketch, Manon?”  
“Holy fire,” Kurt cursed. “What would she do that for? Do you know what kind of people pose for artists like that?”  
“Beautiful ones? The kind with sex appeal that makes you dizzy?” Constantin suggested. He eyed De Sardet. “I don’t see a problem.”  
Kurt rubbed his face. “You are so naive, and yet somehow also nauseatingly perverse. You think about it and see if you can come up with a better answer. And I’ll tell you right now that the reason his studio is in that part of town has nothing to do with the price of the lease.”  
“You should apprentice with an artist this summer, Manon,” Constantin said. “You could see what is done with all the stone you mined last year, and you wouldn’t even have to leave Serene.”  
“We were handling iron ore— marble comes from a quarry, not a mine, Cousin.”  
“So what? They probably use the same sorts of tools and things. Dynamite, surely.”  
“I’m sure artists don’t use dynamite. And I can’t change my plans now. I’ve been trying for three years to convince the headman of Montblanc to teach me how they manage their sheep, and—”  
“I know!” Constantin interrupted angrily. “You get to castrate all the little rams that aren’t good enough for breeding— it’s delightful. And I get to spend the summer here, without you. Again.”  
“Constantin,” De Sardet began, but she didn’t know what to say. “Should I ask your father to let you come with me?”  
“He’ll never allow it. If I had known that complaining about our season with the shipping caravan would condemn me to spending a quarter of every year away from you for the rest of our lives….”  
“You didn’t just complain, Cousin. There were real consequences for a lot of them.”  
“I was fifteen.”  
“I hate being apart from you for so long, too, you know,” she said, not wanting to revisit old arguments.  
“I doubt you even think of me while you’re away,” Constantin said, turning away from her and inspecting his fingernails.  
“I doubt you would want me to this summer,” she returned.  
“Ugh. That’s right,” he said with a grimace as he considered. “You’ll be castrating things left and right. All the sheep bollocks a lady could dream of. And when you get back to court, you’ll be the most feared woman in Serene for what you’ve learned.”  
“That might be an amusing result of this year’s curriculum if anyone cared enough to ask what I did all season.”  
“I’m going to tell _everyone_. You will be known far and wide as _Castratrix_ De Sardet.”  
“Oh, blessed light, don’t you dare get people calling me that.”  
“By our actions are we defined. Go ahead and flitter off. See if I care.”  
“It’s never easy, Constantin. Wherever I go, I’m alone. I have to overcome whatever notions the people with whom I’m working have about the aristocracy or women or whatever. As soon as they realize they can get away with it, they give me the hardest, dirtiest work they can think of, and then they treat me like shit because I don’t know how to do it. I usually start getting good at the job right before my time is up.”  
“It sounds like you shouldn’t be sent alone, Greenblood,” Kurt mused. “I’ve wondered where they spirit you away to during the summer, and apparently I should have asked long ago.”  
“Exactly. Why do you even go, Manon? Tell your mother what it’s like, and she’ll put a stop to it.”  
“What I learn is too valuable to give up.”  
“I pray that you _never_ find occasion to use most of the skills you’ve learned during your summer apprenticeships,” Constantin muttered.  
“I probably won’t need to dig ditches or lay dynamite, but knowing what people look like when they’re lying or afraid to tell the truth is invaluable. Knowing what people fear and how they instinctively think to protect themselves is exactly what I need to learn. When people live different lives, they have unique ways of seeing themselves and the world. They see _us_ differently, as well. I can support you better the more I know.”  
“Unbelievable,” Constantin muttered.  
“I don’t like the idea of trusting a bunch of farmers and shepherds so far from Serene as Montblanc to know they won’t get away with abusing you, Greenblood.”  
De Sardet sighed. “None of the peasants have raped me yet, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’m not trading Montblanc for painting and sculpting, and I refuse to bring guards with me.”  
“We’ll see,” Kurt said.  
“Fuck. Kurt, don’t meddle with this. It usually takes me weeks to convince my hosts to speak to me openly and give me something real to do. If I bring even one coin guard, I’ll _never_ get that far. The trip will be a complete waste.”  
Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. “Montblanc is barely part of Serene’s territory. They forget they are sometimes, as I’m sure you know. And if some peasant gets bold and does have his way with you, he’ll probably decide to slit your throat and throw your body into a ravine to avoid any consequences. If it goes bad, you’re dead.”  
“That’s true in Serene, as well, Kurt, and don’t forget that you’re not my bodyguard, you’re Constantin’s.”  
“I’m supposed to stay with him but protect you both when possible. You make it possible most of the time or you’d have your own guard.”  
“I would not. Otherwise, I’d have guards with me during the summer.”  
“What could you possibly learn from or about shepherds that’s worth risking your life?” Kurt asked, exasperated with De Sardet’s argument.  
“I suppose I could have the Prince arrange an apprenticeship with maestro Umbricius. Surely I’ll be safer in Serene.”  
“Why are you so intent on throwing yourself into the path of danger, Greenblood? Do we need to start practicing with live steel so you can satisfy your thirst for reckless behavior?”  
“Leave her alone, Kurt,” Constantin sighed. “And forget about sending guards with her. My father and aunt consider her summer education to be sacrosanct because she absolutely cannot be here at court for the season. There are too many galas and parties, and seeing that birthmark makes people whisper about the entire family. Until she can prove herself, the stability of the government requires her absence.”  
Kurt blinked, shocked by Constantin’s glib logic. His brow furrowed and he glanced to see De Sardet’s reaction, but she didn’t look upset or embarrassed, only contemplative.  
“If you’re aware of the reason,” De Sardet began, her voice quiet, “why are you so sullen that I must go, Cousin?”  
“You defy them when it suits you, even when you expect to fail. Why can’t you at least pretend you don’t want to leave me here to face it all alone?”  
“I’ll ask to have you come with me.”  
“And if you do and you get your way, you’ll have a dozen guards along as well,” Constantin pointed out. “I’m sorry, Manon. I just miss you so when you’re gone. Gods, I’m beginning to miss you already, and you’re not leaving for weeks yet.”  
Kurt cleared his throat. “I hate to bring this conversation up short, Excellency, but your mother is expecting you for tea.”  
“Damn you, Kurt— I was letting it slip my mind. I had nearly forgotten.”  
“Apologies, Excellency.”  
De Sardet raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t want to go, why can’t you just tell her you forgot?”  
“Because she’ll know I’m lying, obviously,” Constantin said, exasperated. “She always knows. That woman is a witch. She would forgive me if it was true that I forgot, but she’ll see right through me if I’m lying, and she’ll be furious.”  
“You’re being paranoid,” De Sardet dismissed. “But if you must go, at least you’ll get teacakes. She always serves your favorites, Constantin,” De Sardet said, hoping to cheer him up. The Princess Consort’s company was a high price to pay for such treats, but at least Constantin didn’t have to worry about poison at her table, unlike everyone else in the palace, De Sardet herself included.  
“That doesn’t make up for anything,” Constantin grumbled.  
“She’s trying to please you. She doesn’t even bother with that for your father these days.”  
“Fine, I’ll go. No need to escort me, Kurt. She doesn’t like you, anyway, and I’m not well pleased that you reminded me. It really was about to slip my mind.”  
“Once again, I apologize,” Kurt said. He rolled his eyes as soon as Constantin turned his back.  
“Give Auntie my regards,” De Sardet said, knowing it would at least make Constantin smile to imagine the fit his mother would throw at being called “auntie.”  
“You are so delightfully provocative,” he said, turning toward her. He smiled, as she anticipated, then he pulled the door closed behind him.  
“Back in a moment, Greenblood. I need to see that he gets where he’s supposed to be.”

——

De Sardet recognized Kurt out of the corner of her eye. His bearing told her that he was frustrated— probably because he’d had to run all over the palace to find her, and the roof garden was the last place he would think to find her since it was one of the Princess Consort’s favorite spots. But since Constantin was having tea with his mother, it was the perfect time to enjoy the garden. She rubbed the late-season apricot she’d just picked on her sleeve to clean off some of the fuzz, then she carefully split it in half.  
“Why didn’t you stay put?” Kurt said as he approached.  
“You didn’t ask me to,” De Sardet replied, flinging the apricot pit off the wall. “I thought you were going with Constantin,” she said, biting into half the apricot and offering the other to Kurt. He didn’t take it.  
“You know, you’re astonishingly dense when it suits you, Greenblood.”  
“Excuse me?” she said, narrowing her eyes. She tossed the unclaimed half of the apricot off the wall, then wiped her hands with her handkerchief.  
“You knew I’ve been wanting to talk to you, and I said I’d be right back. Even the idiot stable-boys would have understood my meaning. Instead of waiting for three minutes, you ran off and hid from me up here.”  
De Sardet tucked away her kerchief and then crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, what is it? You’ve got my attention, Kurt.”  
“You’re making me regret trying so hard to find you. I just wanted to be clear with you, in case I’ve done something that muddied the waters. You’re my charge twice over— I watch over you, and I’m your weapons master. I don’t strive to be anything more to you, Greenblood. It wouldn’t be right, and even though I know _you’re_ free to do as you please with whomever you please, that was never meant to include someone like me who—”  
“What do you mean, I’m free to do whatever, whomever?” De Sardet interrupted. “I’m not some wanton slut, you know.”  
“No, I wasn’t saying that. But the Prince’s decision to not make a match for you or—”  
“How do you know about that? You weren’t there. Constantin didn’t even know until recently.”  
“It’s known, Greenblood.”  
De Sardet turned away and rested her palms on the top of the rampart. “I should have expected as much. I wonder if the Prince’s generosity is always this humiliating,” she muttered.  
“I’m surprised you’re upset about it. You never seemed interested in settling down, anyway.”  
De Sardet nodded and her lips pressed thin as she considered her response. “I find it upsetting that such decisions about my life rest with my uncle. I find it upsetting that he chose to make a spectacle of me. And I find it upsetting that an unsightly birthmark is considered a defect that should disqualify me from being a wife or a mother. I suppose I should be grateful that Constantin has a use for me, ugly and flawed as I am.”  
“I’m sorry I brought it up. I only wanted to clear the air and make sure I hadn’t crossed a line.”  
“I’m sure you would _never_ cross that line. May we please never speak of this again?”  
“If that’s your wish. Just… don’t settle for anything less than you deserve, Greenblood.”  
“I’m offered scraps and you tell me to be choosy?” De Sardet scoffed. “I’d like to be alone, now, Kurt. Please go.”

Kurt wanted to say something more to her— to tell her that he also found the Prince’s actions and the situation at large to be repugnant— but what would that help? He knew he hadn’t compromised his professional relationship with De Sardet, but he also knew he’d come dangerously close, and her perception of his intent was what mattered most. What good would it do to flirt with disaster? A kind word could be taken as inappropriate intent. And really, De Sardet didn’t need him to comfort her. All she needed of him was his blade and his willingness to bleed to protect her. By the time he had reached the ground level, he was feeling much more like himself. He had a trip to Paper Street to plan, and he knew how he wanted to go about organizing the excursion, so he put De Sardet from his mind and went to find his coin guard comrades.

————————

Paper Street was run down, dirty, and full of people who slunk deeper into the shadowy alleys or disappeared into ramshackle warehouses at the sight of the small knot of coin guards surrounding Soleil and Constantin. Their initial number had dwindled as they neared their destination and as Kurt sent them off in pairs to make sure they had a safe route back to the city center.  
The studio of Maestro Umbricius stood in stark contrast to the rest of the neighborhood— the facade, at least, was stone, and it was made to look like a country villa. The incongruity was almost laughable, but De Sardet was impressed that Umbricius had enough clout in the neighborhood to ensure that the property wasn’t vandalized. The artist’s name was surely a pseudonym— it meant “little shadow” and De Sardet wondered who the “big shadow” was— if he was the son of some rich merchant or aristocrat moonlighting as an artist, it would explain where he got his funds. More likely, she thought, he was connected to someone with the kind of reputation that would protect him. She was eager to meet Umbricius and find out.  
Kurt led them into a courtyard hemmed in by overgrown trellises that was open to the street. A trio of armed men threw dice near a gurgling fountain, and all three eyed them as they approached. “Stay on the street,” Kurt ordered the other guards, who placed themselves around the entrance as he stepped forward to address the men who were no longer interested in their game.  
“My employers are here to speak with the Maestro,” he said, gesturing for Constantin and Soleil to be silent. “Is he here?”  
“It’s your lucky day— Maestro came in early for some reason. Go tell Umbricius,” the man holding the dice said to the youngest of the three, who got up and hurried inside, presumably to warn the Maestro that he had guests. “You, coin guard, weren’t you here just the other day?”  
“On my own time. Today, I’m escorting the lord and lady to conduct their own business.”  
“This isn’t a shop, you know,” the sentinel said, idly rolling the dice around in his palm.  
“Is it not? You lads aren’t shop boys?” Kurt asked.  
“Very funny,” the sentinel said. He glanced toward the entrance of the studio where his companion had just appeared. “Maestro says you can go in,” he announced as the messenger returned to his place by the fountain. “Milord, milady, I hope you find all you’re looking for within,” he said with a facetious bow and as much sarcasm as Kurt had thrown at him.  
Kurt tried to take the lead again, but De Sardet stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  
The studio was surprisingly bright, lit by skylights and mirrors that bounced the light around the room. The main room was dominated by three larger-than-life sculptures in various stages of completion. In a corner illuminated by reflected light sat a plain wooden chair and a pile of various lengths of silk, linen, roughly folded atop a mountain of cushions of various shapes and sizes. Heavy, dark red curtains blocked multiple arched doorways that led deeper into the studio.  
“Maestro?” De Sardet called.  
Within moments, a man with dark, loose curls to his shoulders ducked through one of the curtained doorways. De Sardet tried to see the room beyond, but she barely caught a glimpse of the dimly-lit space. The artist seemed to know what she was doing and he stepped into her line of sight, smiling at her when she met his eyes. “Welcome, amici,” he said. His brow furrowed. “Oh, my, could this be Lady Soleil De Sardet, the daughter of the Princess?”  
“The very same,” De Sardet answered. “You’re Maestro Umbricius?”  
He bowed and pressed a hand to his chest. When he straightened, he again made eye contact and smiled. “How marvelously strange to recognize with certainty a perfect stranger who has come, unannounced, to my humble studio. But you are exactly as you’ve been described— there could be no mistake.”  
De Sardet crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, my appearance is unique— the gods are kind.”  
Umbricius laughed. “Lady, De Sardet, I am very pleased to meet you. May I sketch you?”  
Kurt snapped, “Absolutely not,” at the exact same moment that Constantin breathlessly answered, “Yes, please do.”  
The artist glanced between the two, then settled on De Sardet. “Uh. My lady?”  
“I’m here to discuss a commission, not to sit for a portrait,” she said, perhaps more forcefully than she intended.  
Umbricius sobered. “A commission for what?”  
“A gift for my dear cousin.”  
“Yes, but what does he want? A painting, a print, or a sculpture? Lessons?”  
“What does he want, Constantin?” De Sardet asked, her attention on a half-finished marble sculpture that dominated at least a third of the studio’s floorspace. The workmanship was exquisite, and the figure was unlike anything she’d ever seen before— a young woman— a nymph, she thought— with a crown of flowers trying desperately to evade some roughly-hewn figure that had yet to resolve. The figure’s fingers gripped the nymph’s thigh, appearing to dig into tender, supple flesh. The nymph’s face was turned away from De Sardet, but she was tempted to circle the sculpture to see the expression on her face.  
“Constantin D’Orsay?” Umbricius asked, one brow raised.  
“In the flesh,” Constantin confirmed.  
“Excellency,” the artist said as he bowed low with a courtly flourish. “Forgive me for not recognizing you.”  
“My dear cousin does tend to steal the spotlight. I’m used to it,” Constantin said.  
“And you, sir?” Umbricius said, turning to Kurt. “Should I know your face as well?”  
“No,” Kurt said.  
“My bodyguard,” Constantin explained.  
“Just one guard for Constantin D’Orsay and Soleil De Sardet? You must be terrifying, sir bodyguard.”  
“Kurt is our favorite. We left the rest outside. Are we in danger, Maestro?” De Sardet asked, stepping over a pile of rubble at the base of the statue.  
“Not within these walls!” the artist said, seemingly aghast at the thought. “This studio is a haven of perfect safety. But the streets outside are not my domain,” he added, almost apologetically. De Sardet was not entirely convinced. “You can touch it if you like, dear lady,” Umbricius said, watching her circle the statue. “It’s solid stone, after all.”  
De Sardet put her hand on the cool marble that had yet to be shaped and polished. She circled the sculpture and traced her fingers over the surface, lingering on what details had been roughed in. When she reached the smooth, flowing folds of the nymph’s gown as it swirled around her legs, she slowed, studying the crystalline shimmer below the polished surface, looking for flaws in the stone itself.  
“Well, then, what desire brings such illustrious visitors to my wretched studio? What does my lord fancy?”  
“Tell him about whist, Kurt,” De Sardet requested, her focus still on the statue. Since Umbricius seemed unconcerned about her damaging it, she dared to step upon the base to study the nymph’s face.  
“His Excellency appreciates the recently available whist deck. I have a list of the specific cards,” Kurt said, producing a slip of paper.”  
“And?”  
“The cards are a bit small, and it’s hard to play with several of them missing from the deck,” De Sardet said. “Would you revisit the subjects in a medium more suited for private display?”  
“Which of you is my client?”  
“I am,” De Sardet said without hesitation. She stepped down from the sculpture, her fingertips still trailing over the marble. “At least in the sense that I’m the one who will pay you. But it’s for Constantin, so it is he whom you must satisfy.”  
“Deuce of staves, four of flowers, and the ace of blades,” the artist mused, his eyes on the list. “You have good taste, Lord D’Orsay. I can work with that,” he said with a smirk. “It’s not the best arrangement, working for two individuals to fill a single order, but I’ll take the commission. Do you want full color? Shall I re-hire the models, when possible, and produce new poses, or do you only want larger reproductions? And, forgive me for being crass, but what are you going to pay me?”  
“I’ll pay you what’s fair for your time and expenses, Maestro,” De Sardet answered before Constantin could begin to describe what he wanted. Frankly, she didn’t want to hear it, she just wanted to pay for it. “As these will be on private display and won’t bolster your reputation, I’ll compensate you for that, as well.”  
“You’re too generous, Lady De Sardet.”  
“Just make him what he wants. I’ve brought you a deposit,” she said, offering him a purse of coins. “And we can discuss the particulars of the rest of your payment later.”  
Umbricius took the purse and, without looking at it or seeming to heft it overmuch, slipped it into his coat. “In that case, Lord D’Orsay, shall we step away for a moment and discuss the particulars of your cousin’s generous gift?”  
“Yes, please, Maestro. My foremost concern, you should know, is that these images must be privately displayed,” Constantin said. Umbricius placed his hand on Constantin’s shoulder and led him through a different curtained doorway than the one by which he had arrived.  
“Stay with me, Kurt,” De Sardet said quietly when the coin guard began to follow them.  
“Greenblood?” he said, seeming torn between his two charges.  
“He’ll be fine. Did you look at this?”  
“You were looking enough for all of us,” Kurt said, moving closer to the doorway through which Constantin had disappeared.  
“Relax and give Constantin five minutes of privacy. Umbricius has everything to gain from this commission and everything to lose from robbing, poisoning, or otherwise distressing Constantin. Look,” she said, drawing her fingers over the marble that looked like rippling silk. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”  
“It’s impressive. It looks like the real thing. But appreciating art requires refinement I don’t possess.”  
“On the contrary, Kurt, I don’t think someone so refined that they haven’t ever done an honest day’s work could appreciate the skill and practice that goes into making something like this look so effortless. You know exactly what I mean— it’s just like how you make fighting look as easy as walking. What noble could possibly imagine how much work it takes to make flesh and silk out of stone? In contrast, you can apply your own experience of your art to the quality of the craftsmanship before you.” De Sardet slid her fingers between the deepest folds of cloth, demonstrating that the shadowy depths were more than illusion. “So, how do you judge it?”  
“When you put it like that… she’s practically flawless.”  
“Not quite,” De Sardet said, tracing her finger along the nymph’s calf, up her thigh. “The stone will break right here one day.”  
“How can you possibly know that, Greenblood? I don’t see a crack.”  
“Look close, the flaw catches the light,” De Sardet said.  
Kurt squinted and studied the line De Sardet indicated. “I thought you told your cousin that marble like this comes from a quarry, not a mine. What would you know about it?”  
De Sardet shrugged. “I’ve never seen so much marble of such quality, but the earth is made of the same stuff in a mineshaft or an open pit.”  
“You could be making all this up,” Kurt said, still skeptically inspecting the nymph’s leg.  
“But I’m not. I can’t wait to see what the satyr looks like when he’s finished. I wonder who this is for.”  
“How do you know what it’s meant to be?”  
“Look at him, and then look at her face. He’s clearly going to ravish her, and she’s only playing hard to get— therefore nymph and satyr, not maiden and rapist.”  
“Brava,” Umbricius said as he returned from the curtained alcove. “My own assistants call him Turnus, though I’ve told them repeatedly that they’re wrong, and yet you, after inspecting my work for mere minutes, not hundreds of hours, have correctly identified the subject, Excellency. I am fascinated.”  
“Where’s Lord D’Orsay?” Kurt demanded, ignoring the sculptor.  
“Still speaking to my assistants about the details of the commission. Be my guest,” Umbricius said, waving Kurt along.  
“De Sardet?” Kurt said, making eye contact. She shrugged.  
Umbricius stepped to De Sardet’s side and regarded the sculpture. “The stone isn’t deeply flawed. I don’t think it will fracture.”  
De Sardet wondered how long the artist had been listening. “It will eventually, but maybe if it’s protected from the elements and rests on a level surface without being disturbed or jostled, it may not happen in your lifetime. Unless it breaks from the vibrations as you finish the other figure. Best use a light touch.”  
“How does a royal-born lady become so familiar with my trade, I must wonder.”  
“I have eclectic hobbies. I don’t know your trade at all, actually, but I do know how to break stone.”  
“Then you know an important part of it. How can I convince you to sit for me?”  
“I am easily recognized by description alone. Why would I ever need the services of a portrait artist?”  
“Your cousin wants me to paint a miniature of you for him.”  
“Of course he does,” De Sardet sighed. “For how much longer do you need to look at my face to accomplish that?”  
“I could look upon your exquisite features for an eternity and never tire of the sight, Excellency.”  
“Does that pretentious flattery usually work for you, or do you think I’m so starved for compliments that—”  
“No, no, no, you misapprehend my intention, my lady. Unmarred beauty is an unfinished masterpiece. My clients wish to see loveliness uninterrupted, but after an endless stream of flawless beauty,” he gestured toward the nymph, “what is the fucking point? We require contrast to know beauty, and I think it’s wrong for the contrast to be between life and art— that distinction cheapens both. What contains its own contrast in its very form is the only temple in which true perfection dwells.”  
“Well, that heap is much fresher, Maestro, even though your argument draws attention where none need be directed and hinges on the shallowest of characteristics. Are your works so devoid of the spark of character, emotion, and intelligence that you can only capture the tension and contrast of your living subjects through the manipulation of facial symmetry?”  
“Touche,” Umbricius sighed with a smile. “Clearly I’ve gone about this all wrong. My lady, will you allow me to sketch you for the sake of pleasing your cousin?”  
De Sardet sighed. “My guards are quite distressed by coming here. If you’ll meet me in a part of town that doesn’t terrify them so I don’t have to pay them extra just to tag along, I suppose. And I’m keen to avoid drowning in awkward silence while you work— a conversation is required.”  
“Done and done. My other clients can wait. Are you free tomorrow?”  
“No, and I won’t be until the end of the week.”  
“Then I suppose I shall see you in three days. Where?”  
“The Smiling Cat Alehouse after five bells. But, Maestro, no more attempts at flattery or manipulation. I won’t be mocked.”  
“No, you certainly won’t,” he agreed.  
De Sardet found that his apparent sincerity, perhaps because of the contrast with her discomfort and insecurity, was enough to make her blush. “Tell Constantin I’ve gone home,” she said, leaving the studio.

————————

The Smiling Cat Alehouse was not De Sardet’s favorite tavern. She had no particular complaints about the establishment, its offerings, or its patrons, but she also had no particular praise either. Since she had no attachment to the place, it was a fine venue for her meeting with Umbricius— if she met him somewhere she loved, she might have to avoid going there for a while because the artist seemed like the sort who would happily gossip about anything she told him, including the location of a beloved tavern. She arrived early, but found that the artist was already waiting for her at the table nearest the window. As she approached, she realized that the table had been moved— marks on the floor gave it away. The artist had clearly done his best to make the setting to his liking.  
“Ah, Lady De Sardet!” Umbricius rose to greet her. He leaned close and brushed his cheek against hers, first on one side, then the other. La bise complete, he put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed before gesturing to the seat he wished her to use. “I have been looking forward to seeing you all week.”  
“You haven’t even known me all week, Maestro,” she said as she sat down. “How did you convince the staff to move the table for you?”  
“Nobody is attached to the precise location of any piece of furniture,” he said as he picked up a portable drawing table and settled it on his lap. “Would you move a little closer to the window? The light is only falling on your shoulder at the moment— that’s it, lovely.”  
“You’re going to start drawing already? Have you ordered anything?”  
“No, why would I?” he asked, beginning to sketch.  
“Because we’re taking up seats in the taproom. Would you like something?” she asked,  
“White wine, if you insist. Something hydrating.”  
“Very well,” De Sardet said as she flagged down a serving girl. She placed the order and adjusted her seat, already feeling self-conscious and regretful. She wished she had brought Constantin.  
“Ah, no, turn to the left,” Umbricius said in response to her shifting her chair.  
“You don’t want a better view of the left side?” she asked, turning as he had requested.  
“Later. First, I must get to know your face.” He continued drawing, glancing between her and the paper as his hand lightly guided his willow charcoal. “Might I entice you into letting down your hair, my Lady?”  
“Here? Right now?” she asked, incredulous at his bold request.  
“We could go elsewhere— perhaps a private room upstairs if that would suit you better.”  
“Absolutely not,” De Sardet said. The server set down two glasses of white wine and left without disrupting. “Use your imagination,” she suggested, tasting her wine.  
“I have.” Umbricius pulled a fresh sheet of paper onto the drawing board on his lap. “Your hair is gorgeous. I only wonder how long it is when you let it down. Please face me directly, now.”  
“Well, you’re not going to find out how long my hair is in the taproom of a mediocre tavern. Tell me— who taught you to sculpt?”  
“I studied at the academy of surgeons in Al Saad,” he said, his eyes moving over her features. “Turn left… now back to me. Thank you. Light can lie and shadow is sly, but together they tell the whole tale,” he mumbled under his breath. De Sardet recognized his rhyming ditty about shadow and light as a line from a play, but she couldn’t quite place it. It was not something she’d seen recently.  
“You studied surgery in order to learn anatomy?” she guessed. “That’s clever. But that’s not even half of your trade,” she prompted.  
“True. The academy requires accurate teaching aids. I began with casts from life. Then wax and plaster. Eventually, my talent was recognized and I was sent to learn how to work stone. I apprenticed with a humble but competent architect and shaped pillars and capitals and decorations for building facades. You’ve seen my studio—thus.”  
“You did that yourself?”  
“My apprentices did most of it—with my instruction and guidance. Unifying my studies at the academy and my apprenticeship was left to me.”  
“Nobody taught you to sculpt in marble?”  
“Who could? I even designed most of the tools I use, or at least I improved upon them.”  
“An engineer, architect, stonemason, and artist. But did you actually study surgery?”  
“I did, but to my instructors’ immense disappointment, my constitution does not allow me to put my knowledge to practical use.”  
“What an odd course of study if you had no intention of practicing.”  
“Oh, I _intended_ to! I thought I’d grow used to it. Dissection was never a problem, but living tissue? I may as well be operating on myself.”  
“How fortunate that you found another use for your education. And we’re quite lucky that you chose to set up your studio here in Serene. Your work is unequaled.”  
“My professors would be ill if they knew they had trained an artist.”  
“Hence the pseudonym?”  
“One of thousand reasons.”  
“Is your family another reason?”  
“Are you interrogating me, dear lady?”  
“Are you subjecting me to any less scrutiny, Maestro? You use your eyes and charcoal because you’re an artist. I’m trained as a diplomat, so I use questions and conversation.”  
“A conversation for a few sketches is a more equal exchange than I anticipated. What do you really want to know?”  
“Why is your studio on Paper Street?”  
“That’s where I landed when I first came to Serene. I’ve made the place my own and wouldn’t want to leave it for anything.”  
“That simple? Your neighbors are dangerous.”  
“Not to me. They’re quite fond of me, in fact.”  
“Who do you pay to keep the studio safe? Coin guards are wary of the neighborhood, so it can’t be them.”  
“Why would I have to pay anyone for security? I’m the most popular man on my block, Precious. Nobody would dream of harming me or my workplace. If you don’t believe me, you should come to visit and see for yourself.”  
“I’m sure I’d see whatever you want me to see if I did.”  
Umbricius smiled. “That’s a skill you and I share, I think. You know, I was sure you were going to ask me my name. You surprised me.”  
“I doubt that your wish to indulge my curiosity is enough to overcome your thousand reasons for keeping your identity obscured. And what would a name tell me, anyway? Only what you want me to think of you.”  
“You are far too lovely to be so cynical, Lady De Sardet. I would have told you the truth.”  
“You still can.”  
“Will you let down your hair?”  
“Not a chance.”  
“When I am blessed with the sight of your hair flowing down your back like a river of gold, in that moment, precious lady, my name you will be told.”  
“Is that a line from a play, or is it supposed to be some kind of oracle?”  
“I adore working for clients with class. You don’t know how rare it is to have someone get that kind of joke. An oracular prediction, as you perceive.”  
“Well, if it was supposed to be an oracle, it was a joke— that was a terrible rhyme. And you murdered your syntax to make it work. Leave poetry to poets.”  
“Alas, how difficult it is to seem clever in clever company.”  
“I won’t judge you too harshly— I know your talent lies in other arts. But your prediction isn’t going to come true.”  
“Well, consider it. My studio is far more private— and better lit— than this dismal taproom.”  
“I’ll keep that in mind,” De Sardet said. She liked Umbricius, but mostly, she was interested in exploring the strange incongruities of his workshop and his seeming success. If he were a native of Serene, even, it would make more sense, but his dark complexion and his training in Al Saad made her believe he must be from somewhere within the Bridge Alliance territories. Why would such a rough neighborhood in Serene welcome and even protect him? What use for an artist did the lower echelons of society have? He must have undisclosed connections— she was sure of it. He might even be a spy. She only regretted that she would have to leave for Montblanc too soon to give the mystery due attention.  
“What do you think?” Umbricius asked as he held up one of the sketches for her to see.  
“Ye gods,” De Sardet cursed after a perfunctory glance at the paper.  
“You’re not pleased with my work?”  
“It’s not that. You captured my likeness in great detail,” De Sardet answered. “It’s like looking into a mirror.”  
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Lady De Sardet.” Umbricius said as he wrapped the sketches in the leather folio and tied it shut. “I think this will make for a striking miniature.”  
“I wish Constantin had asked for something else. It seems a little unnerving that strangers I’ve never laid eyes might be able to stare at my face as they’d never dare in person. I don’t like the thought.”  
“When you put it that way, it is a little eerie. Would you be vexed if I told you that your cousin _didn’_ t ask for your portrait?”  
De Sardet froze and locked eyes with him. “Are you telling me that you lured me here under false pretenses, Umbricius?”  
“No, certainly not! I just asked a hypothetical question,” he explained as if it was all a joke. “When we first met, I asked if I could sketch you— I’m sure you remember your cousin’s reaction. I was only hoping that this afternoon might have improved your disposition toward—”  
“That’s enough,” De Sardet interrupted. “I hope you’re satisfied with whatever it is that you got out of this rendezvous. I expect you to deliver my Cousin’s commission before the end of the month. If you’re late, you’ll have to wait until the end of the summer to collect your fee.” She placed a few coins on the table to pay for the barely-touched wine and stood to leave.  
“Wait, Lady De Sardet! I didn’t mean to offend you. Please, let me make it up to you— I’m holding a gathering of poets, musicians, artists, and interesting people this evening, and nothing would please me more than to see you there.”  
“I think not, Maestro. I’d rather not be made a fool of again.”  
“You are anything but a fool, Lady De Sardet. But you should know that your cousin has promised me that he’ll attend. I hope you’ll consider accompanying him. Further, I’ve ensured that the two of you will have safe passage through the neighborhood of Paper Street, so you need not fret about your safety.”  
“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for that, Maestro.”  
“Well, the two of you will be safe as long as you’re recognized.”  
“Ah, there it is. And we both know I am far more recognizable than my dear cousin. You’re not a very subtle manipulator, Umbricius. Once again, I must advise that you stick to your own art. Good day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the nudges! It helps to know people like reading this thing. Otherwise, the half-finished chapters and stray scenes don't seem worth stitching together into something cohesive enough to post.

**Author's Note:**

> Shall we have more of these naive, dependent aristocrats?


End file.
